


A Haunting Game of Telephone

by StupidGenius



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst with a Happy Ending, Drug Abuse, Drug Addiction, Ghost Laura Hale, Ghosts, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, Kate and all the warnings that apply to her nasty ass, Major Character Injury, Medium Stiles Stilinski, Mentions of alcoholism, Multi, Near Death Experiences, Not Canon Compliant, Past Underage, Scott is mentioned, Slow Burn, Withdrawal, YES you got me Klaus Hargreeves my fave gay disaster inspired this, and ghost Allison, i swear this ends happy lol, is that the right tag?, or as slow burn as im capable of tbh, stiles can see ghosts and he isn't happy about it, the graphic depictions of violence is really more for the graphic depictions of gore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-10
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2019-11-15 06:25:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 21,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18068279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StupidGenius/pseuds/StupidGenius
Summary: “I didn’t think they’d react like this.” Laura admits. Stiles waves a hand around.“Really? You didn’t think they’d maybe react badly to some rando showing up and telling them he’s been talking to the ghost of their long dead sister?” He huffs, irritated.“We’re werewolves! It wouldn’t be the weirdest thing that happened!”---Stiles can see and talk to ghosts. He's not entirely thrilled by it, but if he gets a boyfriend out of it, maybe it's not so bad.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I started this after watching the first two episodes of Umbrella Academy and predictably falling in love w Klaus' character. I can been alone in the 'Gay for Robert Sheehan' corner for YEARS after Misfits and i knew from the moment i saw the trailer that he was gonna be my fave. Thought about doing just a straight up Umbrella Academy AU, but i wasn't sure how it would work out, so for now, have this half AU half bullshit fic that i started writing at 4 am one night instead of writing the next chapter of Wild Animals.
> 
> Warnings in the end notes! (Please read them)
> 
> Enjoy!

Stiles can see the dead.

It’s not something he really advertises, mostly because if you tell people you can see ghosts, it doesn’t usually end well for you. That, and once ghosts catch wind of the fact that you can see and hear them, they won’t leave you the fuck alone. When he was little, it was different. He had his mom there, to keep them at bay. She’d take him with her on odd jobs the ghosts gave her - drop off some flowers here, leave a message there, write something on that.

But mom’s gone now. 

Whatever. That’s not the point.

The issue with ghosts is that they look like normal people.

Some of them don’t. The ones who are still too stuck on their deaths, too angry or sad or shocked to move on, are easy to spot. They’re usually bloody and horrific, and make Stiles feel nauseas when he accidentally spots them. But everyone else? They look totally normal. Which, unfortunately for Stiles, makes ignoring them way harder than he’d like it to be. Of course, there is one definite way of knowing - touching them. Or, more accurately,  _trying_  to touch them and passing right through. But going around waving your hands through ghosts is a good way of letting them know that you can see them, which Stiles has actively been trying to avoid for the past 15 years, so.

Stiles sits at his little table and watches the world pass by, slowly sipping on his coffee and trying not to think about the fire under his skin.

There’s not much going on outside Beacon Hills’ one and only coffee shop today. There’s a couple arguing a few store fronts down, a group of teenagers chatting across the street, and a couple walking a dog.

Actually, scratch that.

A guy walking a dog and, following beside him, a ghost. 

She’s not horribly beaten, or anything, but she’s been talking to the guy with the dog for the past couple’a minutes, and the guy has headphones on and seems pretty unaware of the woman at his side. 

She looks up at him, her eyes flashing almost golden in the sunlight, and Stiles freezes, to go cup halfway to his lips. 

He squeezes his eyes shut and digs the heels of his palms in until he sees stars. When he drops his hands, she’s gone, and the guy with the dog is almost out of view. He takes a sip of his coffee and breathes out a sigh of relief.

Mom probably wouldn’t be too pleased about his behavior, but, well. Mom hasn’t appeared to him in over fourteen years, so it’s not like he can know for sure.

Part of him doesn’t want her to.

“I need your help.” A voice says, startling him. He jumps, and almost falls right out of his chair, heart pounding in his chest. In the shop behind him, the barista spares him a confused glance before going back to whipping down the counter. When Stiles turns to look at the source of the voice, he pales.

It’s the ghost lady.

Up close, she looks kind of familiar, but he can’t place her. It’s entirely possible she’s a supermodel, What with the silky dark brown hair, striking bluegreen eyes, and sharp features. She crosses her arms over her chest, and he knows there’s no way he can pretend he hasn’t seen her.

“Well?” She says. 

He groans. “Look, I know this is exciting, and everything, but I’m not in the ‘unfinished business’ deal, okay?” He glances around real quick to make sure no one’s in range. He doesn’t need the town thinking he’s even more of a lunatic than they already do.

“I don’t care. This is important.” 

He scoffs.

“Yeah. Like I haven’t heard  _that one_  before.” He fiddles with his necklace and does  _not_  look at her. 

“Can you just let me explain?” Her voice takes on a desperate edge, and he sucks in a deep breath. 

Fine.

 _Fine_. 

“You have one minute.” He sighs. 

She sits down next to him, and he finally looks at her again. 

Her whole body has this weird, shivering quality to its edges. Like she’s glowing. He hadn’t noticed before, and he’s really never  _seen_  it around any other ghost before, so he doesn’t know what it means. Despite all his reluctance, he’s way more interested now.

“I need you to tell my brother that the fire wasn’t his fault. And I need to punch my uncle for me. Just, right in the face.” She tells him. Stiles blinks.

“Okay, uh. Elaborate?”

“I’m a werewolf.” She starts with. Stiles leans back.

“Right, okay. So you’re crazy then, and I’m wasting my time. Good to know.” He takes another sip of his coffee and tosses the cup in the trash, standing up. The ghost lady reaches out with a growl, but her hand passed right through his wrist. It sends shivers up his spine.

“I’m not crazy! I can prove it, just look - my name is Laura Hale.” She shouts after him. He freezes.

Laura Hale.

He remembers that name from the papers a few years ago. A pair of legs had been found by a couple of joggers in the preserve, land the top half was found a few days later, positively identified as one Laura Hale. Dad worked that case for months, but came up empty. But that’s not the one reason he freezes.

Mom knew the Hales.

She never talked about it out loud, but he’s seen the name come up a few times her journals. 

“I can shift right now if you want. I wouldn’t have told you this if it wasn’t relevant. My uncle...kind of killed me, but I’m over it. It’s not really an issue anymore. Well, it is, but - it’s not my concern at the moment.” She says. Stiles turns around.

Her eyes are glowing golden again, and this time, he’s not so sure it’s a trick of the light. 

“How is that not the issue?” Stiles asks after a moment. She waves a hand.

“I dealt with it.”

“You ‘dealt with it’?” He asks incredulously. She grins, wolf-like.

“Promise you’ll help me, and I’ll tell you everything.”

So, foolishly, he does.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles promises Laura that he’ll go see her brother tomorrow, claiming that he has no time today. The fact that it’s 2 PM and he has nothing planned for the rest of the day aside from watching Netflix, getting high, and ignoring the rest of the world is irrelevant. Laura clearly sees through his bullshit, but thanks him anyway. Maybe she’s just happy someone can finally help her. 

When he gets home, Allison is there waiting for him.

Which would be fine and all, except Allison is dead.

And she’s been dead for a while.

“What took you so long?” She asks, and Stiles stares at her for a moment before heading to his bathroom.

When Stiles was a high school sophomore, his best friend Scott fell head over heels for the first girl to dimple at him across a classroom. Nothing wrong with that, of course, Allison turned out to be a lovely person (despite the fact that her parents were arms dealers), but she turned Scott into a lovesick idiot. It was great, though. High school turned out to be the best couple of years of Stiles’ life. He had friends, his dad was elected Sheriff (and stopped drinking), and there was enough going on around him that the ghosts seemed to almost disappear.

But then Allison died.

Car accident, apparently. Stiles doesn’t believe it, mostly because it’s been years and Ally still won’t talk about it. But that’s what the police report said. His dad had been first on the scene, and Scott had been among the first to know. 

It broke him.

He was never the same after, and he never forgave Stiles for trying to convince him that Allison’s ghost was hanging around him and begging him to move on. Their epic decade long friendship ended before graduation.  But Allison’s still here. Haunting him. She still looks like she did the day she died - brown hair tied back in a messy bun, leather jacket on, large sweater stopping at her thighs, and her favorite pair of leggings on. She sits perched on his coffee table now, soft brown eyes watching him walk past.

She was 19 when she died. She’ll never get any older.

“Met a werewolf at the coffee shop. Stopped to chat.” He finally says. 

His head is pounding, and a quick look behind the mirror reveals that he’s all out of anything that could give him any sort of high, or at least anything to get rid of the pain.

Allison appears on his toilet, eyes wide.

“What?”

“A werewolf.” He repeats. “Well. The ghost of a werewolf, but still. Same thing.” He sighs.

“And you weren’t...scared?” She narrows her eyes at him.

“No? She was a ghost, what was she gonna do? Growl menacingly? It’s not like she could actually get me with those claws.” He leaves the bathroom and heads to the kitchen, uncapping his cookie jar. He turns it over and a couple of tens and some loose change fall out. “Damn it.”

“Stiles.” Allison stands before him, arms crossed. “There’s something I should tell you.”

“Did you take my money?” He asks, frowning. He could have sworn he had more in here.

“Stiles!” She snaps. He looks at her.

“What?”

“Could you maybe stop worrying about getting your next fix and listen to me? I’m trying to tell you something important.”

“I could be looking for money to pay for groceries, you know. Or rent.” He huffs. She fixes him with a look.

“You don’t pay your rent. I do. Pay attention.” She smacks the hand holding the cookie jar, and it clatters to the ground with a metallic clang. 

“Hey!”

“I used to be a hunter.” She blurts. He stares at her. “My whole family did, actually. My dad technically still is one, but it’s different now. Whatever. The arms dealing was a front - he only sold to other Hunters, and all our bullets were made so they could kill supernatural creatures. Specifically werewolves.” She bites her lip. “I probably should have told you sooner. I mean, what’s the worst that could have happened, right? I’m already dead. But I didn’t want to get you into any more trouble.”

“Wait, Wait,” He frowns, “you’ve known about werewolves for the past seven years and you never told me? Because, what? Talking to the dead is all cool and normal, but turning fury once a month and howling at the moon is where you draw the line?” 

“Because knowing about all this is dangerous, Stiles!” She turns away from him and sighs. “And you put yourself in enough danger as it is.”

He knows she’s not wrong.

He’s not exactly healthy physically or otherwise. He has no friends, no family. His dad died four years ago in a shootout, and Scott stopped talking to him long ago. He’s probably going to get fired from his job at the bookstore soon. He’s barely scraping by.

He just doesn’t think he cares anymore. 

“Where do you go when you’re not here?” He asks her suddenly, softly. Wondering and desperate and  _tired_.

She doesn’t answer.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The world is fuzzy around the edges and his hands shake by the time Stiles makes his way down to the apartment complex. He thinks Laura told him to meet her here. He only vaguely remembers the address she gave him. Probably should have written it down. 

“You actually came.” She says, appearing in front of him and scaring the crap out of him. He stumbles back and hits the wall, sucking in a breath.

“Yup.” He finally breathes. 

“He’s on the third floor. Come on.” She jerks her head in the direction of the door, and Stiles eyes the building.

“Is there an elevator?”

“If I say no, are you going to leave?” She asks. Stiles sighs.

He’s winded by the time the reach the top of the second set of stairs, and Laura is giving him a look that he chooses not to interpret. He follows her over to the door on their right, and she holds out a hand. “This is it.”

Stiles knocks.

After a moment, the door opens to reveal a girl. She looks around Stiles’ age, and similar enough to Laura (aka, supernaturally gorgeous) that he just knows this is her sister. She does an incredibly unsubtle sniff and leans back a bit, brows furrowed.

“Who are you?” She asks.

“What, did you forget to take a show this morning?” Laura mutters, giving him a once over. 

“Uh.” He clears his throat and stuffs his hands in his pockets. “Is...is Derek here?” He asks.

“Why?” 

“Um.” He blinks. 

“Cora,” a voice calls. The door opens even more to reveal  _yet another_  beautiful person, and Stiles recognizes him vaguely as the dog walker. He has the same mesmerizing _greenblue_ eyes as his sister, with less brown and more gold. He stares at Stiles with the same annoyed and somewhat disgusted look that ‘Cora’ is giving him. Stiles only faintly remembers Laura saying something about enhanced senses, but he doesn’t think he smells  _that_  bad.

“I...” He starts, dazed. He feels hot and cold, he’s tired, and anxious, and his stomach is in knots. He wants to go home. He wants Allison to walk into the light and find peace, or whatever. He wants money.

“Tell him you’re a friend of mine.” Laura finally huffs.

“I... I’m a friend of Laura’s?” He winces when Derek and Cora’s faces go stormy, and suddenly he’s being slammed into a wall and the room is spinning.

“Okay, I didn’t think he’d do that.” Laura says, hovering between them.

“What did you say?” Derek  _growls_. His eyes go a little glowy, and Stiles stares at him, wide eyed and panicked, heart hammering in his chest.

“D-down, Sourwolf.” He blurts. 

“Are you a hunter? Why are you here? Did you bring others?” Derek asks, rapid fire. Stiles struggles, and Derek only grips him harder. “Answer me. Or I’ll rip your throat out. With my  _teeth_.”

“Dramatic.” Laura huffs, but to her credit, she looks somewhat worried.

“No no no, wait, okay, just - I-I can explain.” He holds his hands up and ignores how they’re practically vibrating. He looks at Laura. “I can, um. I can sort of...see ghosts.”

“Just kill him already.” A new voice drawls. Stiles can’t see the owner over Derek’s angry face, just inches away from his.

“No! Please don’t.” He gulps. Laura steps closer. “I can prove it.”

“Right.” Cora snaps.

“I had a girlfriend, before the fire.” Laura tells him. “I used to sneak out of the house to meet her. I was an adult already, but I didn’t want my parents to know. I was afraid of what they’d think, so I never introduced them. Her name was...”

“Grace! Grace Roberts!” He says. Laura nods encouragingly, and Derek loosens his grip.

“Who?” Cora asks. But Derek looks less like he’s gonna murder him, so that’s a win.

“Laura’s ex-girlfriend. She used to sneak out of the house at night to meet her. You caught her a few nights before the fire. She spilled everything. They’d been dating for three months.” He takes a breath. “She never told anyone. And neither did you.”

Derek drops him.

He sucks in a deep, shaky breath, and watches a Dozen different expressions pass over Derek’s face. Anger, disbelief, grief, guilt, shock. 

“What’s he talking about?” Cora asks angrily. “Are you really going to believe anything this junkie says?”

“That’s a bit unfair, dear niece. It’s a disease.” There’s that voice again. The guy behind Derek is older, with pale blue eyes and a ridiculously deep V-neck. He looks like the kind of guy who you’d expect to be the villain, and now that Stiles thinks about it -

“She also said I should punch you in face for her.” He croaks. The Uncle stares at him.

“Hmmm.”

“He’s right.” Derek finally says quietly. “We never told anyone. The only way he’d know is if Laura told him.”

“He could have asked this Grace girl.” Cora tries. 

“I didn’t! I swear, I totally didn’t.” He looks to Laura and she sighs.

“I didn’t think they’d react like this.” She admits. He waves a hand around.

“Really? You didn’t think they’d maybe react badly to some rando showing up and telling them he’s been talking to the ghost of their long dead sister?” He huffs, irritated. 

“We’re werewolves! It wouldn’t be the weirdest thing that happened!” 

“Maybe not, but it still wouldn’t be great!” 

“Um.” Cora stares at him.

Right. He probably looks like a loon, talking to air. He glares at her, and then at her sister. This really wasn’t worth it. He’s not even getting  _paid_  for this. 

“You know what? Actually, fuck this.” He snaps. 

He gets up on shaky legs and ignores Laura’s calls for him to come back as he trudges down the stairs. He thinks about going home for a second. But Allison’s probably waiting for him them, to judge his life choices or tell him more about his double life she hid from them all when they were in high school, so maybe not.

He goes the opposite direction.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Mom?” He asks.

Stiles is seven years old, and he can see ghosts.

He doesn’t remember a time when he couldn’t. Mom says it’s okay, because she can too. That he’s special. 

“Yes baby?”

“Why are we the only ones that came see them? Why can their families see them too? Or their friends?” He wonders. Mom stops typing on her computer and looks at him. There are no ghosts around them now. They never follow mom or him home. He doesn’t know why - it would be so easy for them pass through his door and ask him and mom to do more things for them. He can’t remember the last time a ghost followed them past the front gate.

“Were - “

“Special.” He finishes. “I know. But why?”

She shakes her head.

“I don’t really know. I’ve never met anyone else that can do what we do. Why do you ask?”

“Scott’s dad has a lot of ghosts. They’re always yelling at him.” Stiles looks down at his shoes. “They’re really loud.”

“I noticed.” She says softly. She gets up from her chair and sits down on the couch next to him. Her hands have scratches from trying to take care of some ghost lady’s cat before her sister gets here to take it away, and her nail polish is chipped because she’s always biting her nails. Mom grabs one of his hands and ruffles his hair with the other one. “Don’t worry about it, kiddo. I’ll talk to them. Make them go away. But always remember - no matter what they do, they can  _never_  hurt you. Okay??”

“Okay.”

She was wrong. He just doesn’t realize until much, much later.

 

 

* * *

 

 

He finds his money behind the tv.

More accurately, he threatens Ally until she tells him where she hid his money. That usually how it goes, but still. It always surprises him when she gives in, since he’s never actually permanently banished a ghost to the beyond before, and he definitely doesn’t intend to do that to her. He’s honestly not sure he can, at this point. He can barely even see ghosts these days.

“Pumping yourself full of drugs until you can’t even stand isn’t the only way to deal with your problems, you know.” She says shakily. Stiles pretends he can’t see the tears in her eyes and slams the door to his apartment shut. The girl in the one across from him flinches when he does, and he winces.

“Sorry.” He mumbles.

He clutches his money tight and shoves his hands deep in his pockets. 

There are ghosts littering the streets.

There didn’t used to be. But then weird shit started happening in high school, ritual sacrifices and mountain lions and, of course, a woman being cleaved in half and dropped in the woods. Some of them moved on. Most didn’t. So now Stiles has to take the long way around to Main Street, because his old chemistry teacher’s ghost is always loitering around the bar on 12th, and the senior who got drowned likes to do laps in the community pool, which is - weird, right? Stiles would think that drowning means you don’t want to go near water ever again, but whatever. To each his own.

He’s close to his dealer’s usual spot, skin on fire and wanting nothing more than take some pills and drift away, when a hand clamps down on his shoulder.

He screams.

He screams until the hand turns him around and he sees Derek, scowling at him, and then his mouth snaps shuts with an audible click.  

“What is it with your family and scaring the ever loving shit out me at every opportunity?” He snaps, jerking away. Derek furrows his dumb eyebrows.

“I... sorry.” He says haltingly. “I just - I wanted to apologize for earlier. About slamming you into the wall and everything. I just wasn’t sure you were telling the truth.”

“Oh.” Stiles relaxes a bit. “Well. People usually aren’t, so. I’m not too surprised.” 

Wait a minute.

“Wait.” He narrows his eyes. “How did you even find me? Have you been following me this whole time?”

“I wasn’t following you. You have...a very distinctive scent. I caught it, and I thought I’d say sorry about before.”

“Why do I feel like I was just insulted?” He turns around and keeps walking and, unfortunately, Derek follows. “Look. I told you that I’m done. Laura just wanted you to know the fire wasn’t your fault. Maybe she was kidding about the whole punching your uncle thing, but if she wasn’t, you’ll have to do it for me.”

“You’re the only witch in town that smells like a walking pharmaceutical.” Derek responds, dry as the desert. Stiles stops short.

“I’m not a witch.”

“You smell like magic.”

“Stop talking about how I smell!” He snaps, whirling around. “And  _leave me alone._  I already told you I’m done, dude. Why are you following me?”

“Don’t call me ‘dude’.” Derek makes a face like he just stepped in dog shit, or something, and sighs. “I wanted to know if...if she’s still here. There’s something I want to ask her.”

Stiles looks around.

There are ghosts haunting every corner, mostly people who OD’d and crime victims. None of them look like Laura.

“Not at the moment. She’s probably in the Other, or at your apartment.” He grips his money tighter and jiggles his leg, antsy. He doesn’t really want Derek following him all the way behind Lucy’s Dinner and watching him buy drugs off his old lacrosse teammate. Stiles is well aware that it doesn’t paint a pretty picture, and he’d rather not have people watching him, whether they know he does it or not.

“The ‘Other’?” Derek looks at him expectantly, and Stiles is just  _tired_.

“I’m not ghostly google. Go away.” He turns around for what feels like the tenth time, determined to get to where he needs to go. He feels too small for his skin. There are dead people everywhere.

He needs this to stop.

“Wait!” Derek calls.

He’s really starting to hate werewolves.

“I can pay you.” He continues. And Stiles looks over his shoulder, because extra money is never bad thing, is it?

“To do what, exactly?”

“I just...I have some people I need to apologize to. Laura included.” Derek whispers. Stiles sighs.

“A hundred dollars.”

“Okay.”

“An  _hour_.” Stiles emphasizes. 

“Okay.” Derek says simply. Like he’s not being grossly overcharged for what is probably going to be a very uncomfortable time. Stiles watches him for moment, not really sure why anyone would ever want to dredge up the dead. What good will it do, apologizing to anyone? They’re already dead, and Stiles is a medium, not a necromancer - these people aren’t coming back.

“Fine.” He finally gets out. “Alright. I’ll help. I’ll meet you at your apartment tomorrow. Now, would you  _please_  - “

“Not there. Here,” he hands him his phone, “put your number in. I’ll text you the address.”

“Whatever dude.” He breathes, putting in his number. “Listen. Don’t tell anyone about this, okay? Helping out dead people was more my mom’s deal, and I don’t intend to follow in her footsteps.”

“Okay.” Derek takes back his phone and steps back. An expression he can’t place crosses his face, and he frowns. “Thank you.”

And then he’s gone.

 

 

* * *

 

 

When Stiles is sixteen, he learns that drugs keep the ghosts at bay.

It’s one of his bad days, and he accidentally takes too much Adderall, and pain pills for his massive headache, and suddenly the old lady in the house across from his isn’t there anymore. The ghost of that creep Matt isn’t hovering around the front of the school. He doesn’t think anything of it the first time, but after it happens again a month later, and again a week after that, he starts to notice the pattern. He tells himself he’ll only do it when there’s too many of them crowding around him, when they get in his way. And at first, that’s how it goes.

And then Allison dies, and his best friend leaves him, and dad’s always at work.

A ghost free world starts to look a whole lot more appealing.

It’s hard to get anything good while he’s in high school. In Beacon Hills, everyone knows him - he’s the Sheriff’s kid. Only idiots would sell to him, and idiots don’t have the good shit. They have weed and more Adderall and sometimes random prescription pills. And until he graduates, that’s what he settles for. Buried in his bottom drawer, under his underwear and a couple of dildos and vibrators, to really reduce the chances of dad finding them. When he goes off to college four hours away, it’s different. No one knows him there, and no one gets the chance to. The only numbers in his phone are his dealer and his dad’s, and soon after, it’s just his dealer. 

The day his dad dies, he holes up in his childhood home and stuffs himself full of enough drugs to block out even Allison’s judgmental comments and pleas for him to stop.

He can’t risk seeing his dad.

He doesn’t know if could have survived it.

“This isn’t where I thought you’d be at this point, you know.” Allison says softly. She’s sitting cross-legged on the floor while Stiles lays on his couch, the world around him in technicolor and music playing from the speakers near the TV. 

“Yeah?” He hums.

“When we were in high school, I thought you were so smart. You could have been valedictorian. I thought you’d end up in law enforcement, like your dad. Or maybe a doctor. You always knew what to do when something was wrong, with Scott or with me. You definitely knew way more about menstrual cycles than any teenage boy I’d ever met.” 

“Lydia was always going to be valedictorian.” He slurs. Allison looks at him, face too blurry to make out. He thinks maybe she’s angry.

He doesn’t think he cares.

“You could have been. You were smart. You still are, sometimes. When you’re  _sober_.”

He doesn’t know what to say to that.

“Am I a witch?” He asks instead. The music changes, switching from something with pianos to something with drums. 

“Why?”

“Derek called me a witch.” He closes his eyes. “Said I smelled like magic, or something.” He giggles, imagining what it might be like to say some words and have his stuff float over to him. “Ha. Wingardiun Leviosa.”

“Derek?” Ally asks, voice urgent and far away. 

“Yupppp.” He throws a hand over his eyes. “Hale. Y’know, those...that family that lives in the woods.” He pauses. “They’re  _werewolves_! It all makes sense now.”

Allison doesn’t say anything. When he opens his eyes again, she’s gone.

 

 

* * *

 

 

**Unknown Number:**

**Meet me here.**

**(Address)**

Right. 

That.

Stiles blinks blearily at his phone. The message was sent half an hour ago, and normally Allison would have woken him buy now and pointed it out, but a quick look around his room reveals that she’s not there. He doesn’t think anything of it until he’s making himself a mug of second rate coffee and she isn’t  _there_ , either. He only vaguely remembers seeing her last night, but even then, she could have been a hallucination. His hands shake with more than just the faint itch for drugs as he pours the coffee into a thermos.

“Allison?” He calls.

Nothing.

She’s never just up and disappeared before. She’s not always there, but she tells him where she’s going, and the drugs can never seem to make her completely fade away. 

“Ally, come on! This isn’t funny!” He tries.

Still nothing.

**Derek:**

**Are you still coming???**

“Please be here when I get back.” He whispers.

In his head, he’s sorry. He’s sorry Allison died at nineteen, sorry she’s been stuck with him for the past seven years, sorry she has to watch him waste away in this shithole apartment because he has no impulse control and no will do anything other than lock himself away. But he’s a selfish man. He’s afraid that telling her this’ll make her realize that there’s a door for her to walk through out there somewhere, and that she’ll never come back once she finds it.

So he says nothing.

He Uber’s to the spot Derek texted him. Technically, he has a car and a license, but he hasn’t trusted himself to drive anywhere in years.

When he gets out, Derek is nowhere in sight. And neither is anything resembling a house or civilization. Stiles should text him, maybe something along the lines of ‘what the fuck???’ and ‘where are you??’. But he feels something almost  _calling_  to him, in the trees, so instead of doing the smart thing, he lets his feet carry him forward. There’s a worn path that he assumes is the one joggers take when they come out here, but Stiles ignores it. He walks straight ahead, between a couple of trees that look just a bit too green, past birds that stare instead of flee when his clumsy feet make twigs snap bellow him. 

He pushes past the last few trees and finds himself in front of a tree stump.

It’s big enough to be a large table, and imaging the tree that it once was makes him feel incredibly small. 

There’s a woman he’s never seen before standing on the other side of it, hands clasped in front of her. She looks up at him when he comes closer, and something about her makes him want to stand up straighter. 

“It makes me feel that way too.” She says. Her voice sends shivers down his spine, and he takes another step. His shoe hits the base of the stump.

“How did you - “

“The look on your face.” She gives him a soft, lopsided smile. “A friend of mine had the same look on her face when I first showed her.”

“Oh.” Stiles blinks.

He’s not sure if she’s a ghost. She doesn’t look like one. She looks kind of like a lawyer, or maybe an accountant, in a black pencil skirt and shiny blue blouse. She reaches out and runs a hand over a patch of moss on the stump.

“Can you feel it too?” She asks quietly. 

“Feel what?”

She looks at him expectantly, and he reaches out, hesitant. He feels like something big might happen. He’s just not sure what.

Maybe he’s being ridiculous. It’s just a tree stump.

He places a hand on it.

 _He’s not in the preserve anymore. He’s not even_  outside.  _He’s in a house, standing in the middle of a large, pristine kitchen. There’s a woman with short red hair in a too-big t-shirt at the stove, and Stiles can smell the pancakes she’s cooking. There’s another girl at the breakfast bar, and Stiles’ eyes widen when he sees her._

_It’s Laura._

_She’s younger than she looks now, definitely in her teens. She has braces with pink rubber bands and bangs, and she’s watching the woman at the stove intensely, fingers drumming on the counter._

_“Alright, grab the plates.” The red head says, looking up. Laura stands on her shake to get the plate, and when she comes back down with only one, the woman raises an eyebrow. “Don’t forget one for your brother, too.”_

_“I don’t want pancakes.”_

_Stiles turns around, and there’s little Derek._

_He’s adorable._

_His ears are too big for his head, his hair hangs in his eyes, and he’s a lot scrawnier than Stiles remembers. He looks about eight or nine years old, and he’s clutching a stuffed animal to his chest. It takes Stiles a second to realize it’s a wolf._

“Oh my god.” He breathes.

_“Derek, you have to eat breakfast. It’s the most important meal of the day.” The red head tell him._

_“But I don’t want your pancakes. Dad makes the best pancakes.” He speaks softly, timidly. The red head’s expression softens, and her eyes look glassy._

_“I... I know, Der. But we ran out of cereal. I know mine won’t be as good, but could you try them for auntie Mary? Please?”_

_Little Derek looks hesitant, but when his sister wordlessly shoves a plate in his direction, he clambers up onto the chair and takes it._

“You’re not supposed to be here.”  _Someone says. Stiles blinks, and finds himself in another part of the house. It looks like a library, with books stacked high up on the shelves, and a desk covered in loose sheets and dusty tomes. He feels weak, and cold, and a man he’s never seen before looks at him with a curious expression. His eyes are green as forest leaves, light brown hair curling around his ears. There’s something incredibly familiar about his thick brows and straight nose, but Stiles is having a hard time focusing enough to figure out why._

“What?”  _He asks._

“You’re fading.”  _The man says, brows furrowed._  “If you keep holding on, he’s not going to be able to save you.”

“What do you mean?”  _He frowns._

_The world shakes._

_The guy doesn’t seem too affected by this, but Stiles topples back on his ass, chest tight. He sucks in a breath and it feels thin. Not enough._

“What’s - happening?”  _He pants._

“You need to let go.”  _The guy says, crouching down. Stiles stares up at him, eyes wide._

_He’s freezing._

“Let go!”  _The man says firmly. Loudly._

Stiles lets go.

 

 

* * *

 

 

He wakes up feeling like he’s just been run over by a truck.

It’s never actually happened to him before, but he imagines it feels a lot like this.

His chest in on fire, and every ragged breath in hurts. There’s a searing pain in his side and something digging uncomfortably into his neck, and after a moment, he recognizes it. 

A seat belt.

He opens his eyes.

He’s in a car. The world rolls by in a blur, the only sounds the way the tires roll over the road and the AC in his face. He feels cold and sick and full of energy but utterly drained all at once, and it takes a momentous effort to turn his head and actually look at the driver.

“D’rek?” He slurs, confused.

“I’m taking you to the hospital.” Derek says, tense. He doesn’t look at Stiles when he talks, and he can see the way Derek’s jaw clenched and how tight his grip on the wheel is.

“Why?” 

“You overdosed.” He sounds - angry. 

But that can’t be right. Can it? Stiles didn’t take anything this morning. And he’s careful now. He knows how much he can handle. He hasn’t overdosed in years. 

“No.” He groans. “I - I don’t - ah!” He tries to sit up, and it makes the pain in his side flare up, white hot and blinding. He sees stats for a moment, nothing but static in his ears, and the car stops moving.

“Don’t move.” Derek urges, reaching out and putting a warm hand on his neck. The pain disappears suddenly, until he’s drowsy and only slightly achy. 

“What?” He stares at Derek through half lidded eyes.

The part of his arm that Stiles can see is covered in black veins, his expression a mix between pained and frustrated. 

“I think you broke a rib. I’m not sure.” Derek pauses. “You weren’t breathing. I had to give you CPR, and I... I pressed too hard.”

Oh.

That explains it.

“I didn’ OD.” He gets out. Derek frowns at him.

“You don’t have to lie to me, Stiles. I can smell the drugs on you, and I found some in your pocket.”

“Didn’t take anything.” He shakes his head slowly, fighting to stay awake. “Not today. Was...I was waiting. Until after. Until I was home.”

“Then what happened?” 

Stiles looks down at his hands. They’re covered in dirt.

“I touched it.” He says simply.

Derek, surprisingly, doesn’t ask what he means. He just scowls at him, and gives him a curt nod, and then the car starts up again.

He spends the rest of the ride in a daze. Derek helps him into the ER, holding him up carefully, one hand pressed to the small of his back under his shirt for some reason. Stiles leans into his side as they wait in the unreasonably uncomfortable plastic chairs. Derek smells like leather and pine and soap, and Stiles soaks in it. Everything he owns, as crazy as it may sound, smells like death to him. So this is...nice.

But maybe that’s the drugs talking.

Has he been given drugs?

“Why doesn’t it hurt?” he breathes in Derek’s shoulder.

“I’m taking the pain.” Derek grunts. Stiles looks up at him.

“You can do that?”

Derek nods. “All wolves can. It helps sick wolves heal.”

Derek stays with him when they lead them to a curtained off bed and do a quick check up. A doctor feels around his ribs while Stiles bites his cheek to keep from screaming, and an X-Ray confirms that he has two cracked ribs. The doctor leaves to go deal with the screaming at the end of the hall, and Stiles is left with his pain.

“I’m sorry.” Derek tells him, once the curtain closes.

“Hmm?”

“I did that.” He gestures to the X-Rays on the wall, and Stiles blinks at him.

“Dude.”

“I told you - “

“You  _saved my life_.” Stiles whispers. 

He could have died in those woods, by the sound of it. It didn’t occur to him until just now that, if Derek hadn’t found him, he would have ended right there. Stiles spends a lot of time around the dead - way more than he’d like. He’s always wondered what it’s like on the other side, even wished he was dead sometimes. But now - he’s never been so close to dying before.

“Oh god.” He breathes, clasping a hand over his mouth. “I almost - I - “

“Hey,” Derek says softly, “it’s okay. You’re okay.”

Stiles squeezes his eyes shut. 

“Have you always been able to see ghosts?” Derek practically blurts out. Stiles opens his eyes, surprised.

“U-um. Yeah. About as long as I can remember.” He glances at the curtain. “A lot more of them than you’d expect in a town this small.”

“What’s it like?” Derek asks softly. Stiles looks down at his hands. They’re still covered in dirt. He doesn’t remember how that happened, but he does remember that a ghost told him to touch a tree stump and somehow, that nearly killed him. 

“Sometimes they look like normal people. With all the weird murders in this town the past few years, most of the time, they look like they did when they died.” He doesn’t mention the cop in the waiting room with five bullet holes in his chest, or the nurse in the hall with knife in her neck. “It’s, uh. Not fun.” He huffs. “I don’t know how my mom did it.”

Derek watches him for a moment, silent. 

“Is that why you smell like a pharmacy.” 

Stiles narrows his eyes at him.

“I don’t need you judging me, alright? I almost died.”

“No, I’m not - “Derek signs. “I’m not judging you. I just. I get it.”

He blinks.

“Oh.” He breathes. “Well. I... wasn’t expecting that. Usually when I talk about this stuff, Allison tells me something along the lines of ‘you’re throwing your life away’.”

“Allison?”

“The ghost of my ex-best friend’s girlfriend. It’s a long story.” He waves a hand. Derek rolls his eyes, small smile on his lips, and Stiles can’t help but smile back.

He’s almost died. He’s in the hospital with two cracked ribs, withdrawal making his hands shake. And yet, somehow,

He’s having a nice time.

Derek seems to consider him for a second, before he holds up his keys, and Stiles’ eyes catch on a shiny golden keychain with a large 3 etched into it. “I’m an alcoholic.”

“Laura said werewolves couldn’t get drunk.” 

“I drank a lot of liquor.” Derek responds dryly. Stiles laughs, and it reignites the pain in his chest.

“Ah, fuck. Don’t make me laugh, Holy shit.” He gasps, forcing himself to breathe normally. Derek frowns, wrapping a hand around his wrist. He leaches out the pain, and Stiles slums.

“Sorry.” Derek mumbles. 

“If you apologize for saving my life  _one more time_ , I’ll rip your throat out,” he grins, “with my teeth.”

Derek shuts up, after that.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Derek drives him back to his apartment when the doctor finally releases him. They spent the whole ride arguing, because he insists on paying Stiles’ medical bills, like an  _idiot_. He barely knows him!

_He already knows you better than anyone else though._

His neighbor is sitting outside her apartment again when they get back, a book in her hand and leather pants on. He learned a long time ago that Erica is somewhat unusual, and it’s best not to question what she does and why. Stiles is a curious man, but her boyfriend looks like he could rip him in half without breaking a sweat, so he minds his own business. 

“Um. Thanks for. This?” He winces. “Walking me home, I mean. Not the hospital trip. Although I guess I should thank you for that too.”

“You’ve thanked me enough, I think.” Derek says. He lets Stiles go when they stop at his door, and out of the corner of his eyes, he sees his neighbor lower her book.

“Still.” He pulls his keys out of his pocket with some effort. Derek holds up the bag of his prescribed pain pills, hesitant.

“Is it too much to ask that you use these as instructed by your doctor?” 

Stiles looks at it.

He doesn’t want to tell Derek that he already has a stash of a variety of pain pills that he just replenished last night. Part of him wants to be angry that Derek’s talking to him like this. They’re practically strangers. He has no  _right_.

And yet.

There’s something about him that makes the idea of disappointing him somewhat upsetting. 

“No... it’s not.” Stiles says. 

Can’t be too hard to stick to a strict schedule when he has plenty of other things to take in between.

“Hmm.” Derek shuffles his feet -  _adorable_ , Jesus - and stuffs his hands in his pockets. Stiles realizes that, surprisingly, the jacket’s slightly big for him. The sleeves come past his wrists, ends fraying. Actually, not that he thinks about it, the jacket itself looks kind of familiar. 

Lately, is feels like he’s been saying that about everything he sees.

“You never got to talk to know you wanted.” Stiles blurts. Derek frowns.

“What?”

“You called me into the woods for a reason, remember? That things we were supposed to do before a magical tree made my lungs suddenly stop working?” He pauses. “Which you’re totally gonna tell me more about after I’ve taken a much deserved sick day, by the way.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Derek says gruffly. “Another time.” He backs up, obviously ready to make a run for it. Stiles sighs, ribs starting to ache again and sweat gathering at his temples and dripping down his back. 

Stiles opens his door and looks back.

“Hey Derek?” He calls, before he loses his nerve.

“What?”

He takes a breath. “You’re a good person.”

He closes the door before he can see the look on Derek’s face. 

(Is something between shocked and bashful, and Derek’s jaw drops just a bit, the tips of his ears turning red. He likes Stiles, even if he can’t pinpoint why, and his sister says his scent makes her eyes water. 

Erica wishes she’d decided to bring some popcorn out with her after all.)

 

 

* * *

 

 

Allison doesn’t reappear until later that night, while Stiles sits on his cough in a drugged haze, half-heartedly trying to keep melting ice packs on his bruised chest. She takes a step forward and stops abruptly, eyes widening when she sees the state he’s in. Her mouth opens and closes a few times, and finally, she sits next to him.

“Stiles...what happened?” 

“Magic tree?” He shrugs, then winces. 

The drugs aren’t having the same effect on him as they usually do. Although, maybe that’s because he’s actually in physical pain, as opposed to the numerous times when he definitely was not.

“‘Magic tree’? You’re not even gonna try and come up with a plausible lie?” She huffs. He rolls his head lazily to look at her.

“Dunno if you would believe me if I told you, to be honest.”

“Try me.” 

“Alright.” So he tells her. He got up that morning, not entirely sober but definitely getting there, and went to meet with Derek. And then decided to venture into the woods by himself because god knows why, and he met a ghost that told him to touch a tree stump and all of the sudden he was in the last. He thinks. Maybe he was just observing the past. None of them seemed to know he was there except for the guy that told him to ‘let go’, whatever that meant.  “...and then Derek gave me CPR and cracked some of my ribs. But I’m fine now.” He gestures to himself. “Obviously.”

“Right.” Allison breathes, gaping. 

“Enough about me though. Where the fuck were  _you_?”

Maybe he’s a little pissed that she disappeared on him.

That, and  ~~a lot~~  a little scared.

“I had something important I needed to do.” She bites her nails, looking away. “Something’s happening. In town.”

“What do you mean?” 

“You’ve been too distracted to notice. But there are - less of us. Here.” He knows that by ‘us’, she means ghosts. “I went for a walk and I noticed a few homes for sale. Those families have lived here forever. Why would they just suddenly get up and move? And at the graveyard - Lahey is missing. You know, that sad looking blonde? He’s been there since I died. He’s too emotionally attached to leave. Where would he go? And,” she looks at him, “you’re glowing. A little bit.”

“I’m  _what_.” He frowns.

“Not exactly glowing, just. Brighter than everything else around you.” She reaches out, hesitant, and places a hand on his bare shoulder. It’s cold and light, more like a piece of paper landed on him than a hand. But it’s weird. Allison can’t usually touch people - only objects, and only for a few minutes at a time.

“How are you doing that?” He asks, eyes wide. 

“I... I don’t know. I don’t think it’s me.” She moves her hand down to the palm-shaped bruises on his chest, corners of her lips drawn down. He can  _feel it_ , the cold seeping into his skin. “Maybe it’s because you died.”

“But I didn’t.”

“You said Derek had to do CPR.”

“Because I wasn’t breathing, not because I  _died_.” He insists. She removes her hand. He stares at it, dread pooling in his gut.

If she can touch him...

“Maybe you’re abilities are developing.” She says after a moment. “My dad said something about knowing someone who could talk to the dead once. He said she lived here. Maybe you could talk to her.” 

Stiles debates getting mad at her for keeping the fact that there’s another medium out there that could possibly help him to herself. But if he got mad every time she revealed something like this, he’s probably be getting mad at her every time she opens her mouth. So he decides against it. He’s never really wanted to meet someone else who had to deal with this shit anyway.

That’s not true.

“Who is she?”

“Lorraine Martin,” Allison starts, “She - “

“Lydia Martin’s  _grandmother_?” He says in disbelief. “Aside from the fact that Lydia hates me, Lorraine died when I was in middle school. There’s no way I can talk to her.”

“I’m dead, and you’re talking to me right now.” She points out. Stiles glares.

“Because despite everything I’ve done, you’ve decided to stick around!” He hisses. “Maybe it’s escaped your notice, but I’m getting high for a reason! I don’t need to see ghosts everywhere I turn, thanks. And I’m definitely not summoning up another one when I can barely stand to be around  _you_.”

It’s mean, he knows.

But he can’t take it back.

Allison stand up, eyes hard and hands fists at her sides. “It’s not exactly fun for me either, watching you piss your life away. If you hate all this so much, why don’t you just end it already?!” She spits. Her eyes go wide the second the words come out of her mouth, and Stiles feels cold in an entirely different way now. She puts a hand over her mouth. “Stiles, I – I didn’t –”

“Maybe you’re right.” He says numbly.

She shakes her eyes, eyes glassy.

“No, no, I didn’t mean it, I never –”

“Get out.” He interrupts. She freezes.

“Stiles –”

“Get out!” He shouts, white hot anger flaring in his chest. She gasps, and with a strange popping sound she’s _gone_.

He sits on the couch, staring at the spot where she’d been standing, chest heaving. It hurts with ever inhale, pain meds already wearing off. He stands tentatively, fear gripping him. He’s never heard that noise before.

“Allison?” He calls, voice shaking. “A-Ally?”

She doesn’t come back.

“I – I’m sorry. I’m still upset, but you don’t – you don’t have to leave, okay? We can talk this th-through.” He sucks in a breath, and it catches in his throat. His eyes sting with unshed tears. “Allison?” He croaks. “Please come back.” He tries his hardest to summon her, but he doesn’t know _how_. Doesn’t remember what his mother used to say. He can’t focus. The silence of her absence is deafening, and he drops to his knees, hot tears falling down his cheeks.

“Allison?”


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “He smells bad.” 
> 
> “Malia.” Cora scolds. “That was _literally_ the one thing Derek told you not to say.”
> 
> “It’s okay.” He croaks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant to post this sooner, but i had to take a quick break to finish some art commissions and write a few Umbrella Academy fics that i couldn't get out of my head. But i'm back! And i realized that just three chapters wasn't gonna be enough, so. Lets hope i can stick to Four.
> 
> Enjoy!

He doesn’t remember how he got here.

There are ghosts all around him. of course, it makes sense, seeing how he’s in a cemetery and all.

They crowd around him like moths to flame, and he can’t help but think about what Allison told him the last time he saw her. _Not exactly glowing, just. Brighter than everything else around you_. He didn’t get it then, and he doesn’t get it now, but apparently that means ghosts are attracted to him now. They don’t give him a very wide birth as he sits before Allison’s grave, mud seeping into the thin cotton of his sweat pants.

_“Stiles!”_

_“Help me!”_

_“My daughter, she needs –”_

_“– It’s behind a dumpster on fifth, please –”_

_“Stiles!”_

_“Look at what they did to me!”_

_“Please!”_

_“Where am I?”_

There’s a woman with no lower half, just a floating torso with her internal organs hanging off her like grotesque rope, blood dripping off her and disappearing before it hits the grass. Stiles forces himself to scan the faces of the crown around him, looking for one in particular, but he can’t find her. A man with part of his head missing, brains just out for the word to see, reaches for him, and Stiles scrambles back. He puts his hands over his ears.

This was a mistake.

How did he get here?

His ribs protest as he curls into himself, but its better than seeing all the blood and gore of the dead. The rain beats down on his shoulders. Why didn’t he bring any pills? He pats his pockets frantically, and all he comes up with are a couple of cigarettes and a balled up receipt from Wendy’s.

“Allison!” He shouts.

He never should have told her to go.

He can’t be alone.

He doesn’t know _how_ to be.

“Stiles?” This voice is closer that the others. Calmer.

“Stiles, what are you doing here? Are you okay?” The voice is right above him now, and he squeezes his eyes hut, afraid. He doesn’t need to see whatever horrific image awaits him. When a hand clamps down on his shoulder, he screams, because it’s not just Allison that can touch him. The ghosts can finally drag him away, just like he feared, and –

“Open your eyes!”

He does.

It’s Derek. Of course it is.

“Derek.” He practically sobs. The ghosts around them take a step back, and Stiles feels a bit more like he can breathe. Derek must see how he’s looking around, because he does the same, like somehow, he’ll be able to see them too.

“Come on. I’m taking you home.” He finally says. Stiles panics.

“No, I can’t – I can’t go back, she –”

“Hey, hey,” Derek stops him. “Okay. I’ll… come with me.” He settles on.

He lets Derek lead him over to his car. It’s nice, a sleek black Camaro, which he didn’t notice last time he was in it. Derek opens the door for him, and he pauses.

“I’m soaking.” He points out.

“Doesn’t matter. Get in.” Derek says gruffly. Stiles does what he’s told, numb.

They drive in silence for a while. He should probably be worried abut where they’re going, or what Derek could do to him, or something. But he doubts the guy who insisted on paying his hospital bills yesterday is going to do anything malicious to him now. And he doesn’t really have it in him to care.

“ _If you hate all this so much, why don’t you just end it already?!_ ” Allison’s voice drifts through his head.

Maybe he should.

He doesn’t really know how much more of this he can take.

Derek glances at him and turns up the heat. “What did you take?” Is the first thing he asks. Stiles stares out the window.

“I don’t know.”

And really, he _doesn’t_. Everything after Allison’s disappearance is a blur.

“Do you know how you go there?” Derek wonders. Stiles shakes his head. “Okay.”

Stiles finally turns to look at him.

He’s also soaking from the rain, and much like the last time Stiles was in this car, he keeps his eyes trained on the road, knuckles white one the wheel.

“Do I smell bad?” He blurts. Derek finally spares him a glance.

“Why?”

“I’m just curious.” He feels like his mouth is moving on its own accord, but he doesn’t really care. Anything to fill the silence.

“No.” Derek grunts. “Not… under the chemical smell.”

“Really?” He questions. Derek makes a face.

“You smell like magic. And… roses.”

In the dark of the night, Stiles can’t see him blush. He leans his head back against the seat.

He recognizes the building they pull up in as Derek’s apartment building. He doesn’t touch Stiles this time, confident that he can stand without falling over. Stiles follows him into the elevator, wrapping his arms around himself and shaking. Now that he’s out of the rain and not being attacked by spirits on all side, he’s fucking _freezing_. He’s so absorbed in trying not to shake apart, he doesn’t notice Derek moving until he’s placing his jacket on Stiles’ shoulders. It still smells the way it had at the hospital.

“Thanks.” He stammers.

Derek just grunts, like a caveman.

When they get to his door, it opens before Derek can pull his keys out. His sister (Cory? He can’t remember) eyes him warily, brows furrowed.

“What’s he doing here?” She asks, clearly unhappy.

“Cora.” Derek barks. She slinks away from the door, opening it wider, and Stiles follows Derek inside. “Wait here.” He instructs, and disappears down the hallway.

“He looks like a wet rat. Both of you do. What did you do, play in the mud?” She scoffs.

“I tripped.” Stiles lies. She narrows her eyes at him.

“Liar.”

“How could you possibly know that?”

“Im a werewolf, remember? Super hearing. Your heart speeds up when you lie.” She crosses her arms over her chest. Stiles hunches over, frowning.

“Don’t fucking listen then.”

“Here.” Derek comes back, town in hand. “Um. I thought you might want to shower. It’s the last door on the right. I’ll get you a change of clothes.”

Why are you doing this? He wants to ask. But now, suddenly, his mouth doesn’t seem to want to work. So he takes the towel and shuffles down the hall to the bathroom. Once he closes the door, he can hear Cora and Derek talking, too low for him to make out.

In the mirror, his reflection stars back at him, eyes too wide and too tired for his pale face. There’s streaks of dirt on his shallow cheeks, hair plastered to his forehead by the rain. He chucks off Derek’s jacket and his own coat, and his torso looks like a mess. The bruises on his chest are a dark, ugly _blueblack_ , and there are scratches on his arms that he doesn’t remember the cause of.

He looks like a corpse.

How fitting.

 

 

* * *

 

 

He sleeps in Derek’s bed.

He knows it’s Derek’s bed because of the scent more than anything else. The man in question hasn’t said anything about this being his room, and it’s not like there’s much decoration. But there’s work books stacked on the floor and a closet full of leather and pine scented clothes, and part of Stiles thinks this is big. It has to be, right? Derek’s a werewolf with hypersensitive senses, and Stiles is getting his ‘chemical-magic-roses’ smell all over his sheets.

The other part of Stiles is fucking exhausted. 

He doesn’t know how long he sleeps, just that it’s surprisingly uninterrupted. He wakes to the smell of bacon and the sound of soft chatter from the kitchen. He sits up and runs his hands down his face.

“You look like shit.” 

“Ah!” He yells, and his ribs ache. He hisses, pressing his hands against his side. Laura huffs, and taps her foot.

“Hey,” Cora opens the door and peeks her head in. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” Stiles gets out. Laura snickers. “Y-Yeah, I’m. Im fine.”

His stomachs rumbles loudly, and Cora eyes him. She opens the door a bit more, and gestures behind her. “I made breakfast.”

He follows her to the kitchen, Laura close behind him. There’s a girl there that wasn’t there before, with tan skin and sandy brown hair, and curious brown eyes. She wrinkles her nose when she sees him.

“He smells bad.” 

“Malia.” Cora scolds. “That was _literally_ the one thing Derek told you not to say.”

“It’s okay.” He croaks. 

“I’m starting to think maybe I should have waited until I met a less troubled medium to ask for help.” Laura comments. Stiles ignores her and sits at the stool next to ‘Malia’. Cora drops a plate piled with bacon and eggs and toast in front of him.

“You’re not a vegetarian are you?”

“Nope.” He suddenly remembers that he hasn’t eaten in a while, and his stomach growls again. He forces himself to go slow, because they already think he’s disgusting, he really doesn’t need them witnessing him inhaling his food. His hands shake from withdrawal, and his chest feels too tight. 

Allison is gone.

That one thought complexly obliterates his appetite, despite how hungry he’d been when he sat down. He pushes the plate away, the sight of it suddenly making him feel sick.

What if he disappeared her for good?

What if he can never get her back?

Malia takes his plate and finishes off without asking, which she gets reprimanded for, but Stiles doesn’t mind. He can barely hear them. Everything around him feels like it’s happening on the other side of thick glass, sounds muffled and the world blurred. He sits on the stool, staring down at his lap, for what feels like an eternity. He keeps replaying his and Allison’s last conversation in his head, over and over, a tortuous loop.

_“And I’m definitely not summoning up another one when I can barely stand to be around you.”_

_“If you hate all this so much, why don’t you just end it already?!”_

He’s snapped out of his stupor by something grabbing his arm. He jerks, heart pounding.

It’s Malia.

“Do you wanna paint your nails?” She asks him, either totally oblivious to his panic or just choosing to ignore it.

“Um.”

“I told you. He’s a guy, he doesn’t want to.” Cora says from the couch.

“Why does it matter that he’s a boy? He has nice hands.” Malia huffs. Stiles blinks.

“It. It doesn’t matter. I just – I’ve never painted my nails before.” He tells her. She grins.

“That’s okay. Cora’ll do it for you.”

Cora looks like she’d really rather not, but Malia tugs at his arm, so he goes to sit next to her on the couch. She holds out a hand expectantly, and he tries and fails not feel self-conscious when his tremble in her grip. She holds it firm but gently, and gestures with her other hand to the table.

“Color?”

“Oh, do red.” Laura says. Stiles glances at her.

“Uh…” He fidgets. “Black. Please.”

“That’s so cliché.” She leans back against the wall. “A medium with black nail polish.”

“I like it.” He says defensively. Cora pauses, eyeing him.

“No worries dude. It’s my favorite too.”

He watches her try and fail to apply it without getting any on his bare skin. She looks kinda frustrated by the time she asks for his other hand, but she doesn’t comment on it.

“So…” She says after a moment. “You…you can really see ghosts?”

He looks at Laura, leaning against the wall.

“Yeah.”

“Like, all the time?” He nods. “Wow. That must suck.”

“It does.” He confirms. “There’s only one ghost I’ve ever actually wanted to talk to, and…she’s gone.” He shakes his head, throat feeling tight. He can’t do this now. “Um. What’s it like being a werewolf? Do you guys really go fury on the full moon? Can you all turn into full on wolves, or is it more of a hairy wolfman sitch?”

“Only Alphas can do the whole ‘wolfman’ thing.” Cora explains. “Usually everyone else does a beta shift, but our pack can do a full wolf shift too – it’s hereditary.”

“Beta shift?” Stiles prompts. Cora puts down the nail polish and takes a breath and _shifts_.

It’s strange to look at, and he rears back in spite himself, but it’s like nothing he’s ever seen and it’s kinda _cool_. Her ears elongate to a point, hair growing in along her jaw and brows morphing into something more buffy-vampire-esk than human. Long, sharp claws replace her shiny black nails, and her eyes glow golden, just enough to cast light on her lashes. She opens her mouth, and sharp canines peek out.

“Woah!” he gapes. “Holy shit.”

“Beta Shift.” She shrugs, her words coming out with a slight lisp.

“That’s so cool.” He breathes, reaching out. “Can I –”

“No.” She says firmly, features melting back into human. Her eyes stay shining gold. “No touching.”

“Sorry.”

After a few moments of silence, Malia speaks.

“I’m a werecoyote.”

Stiles blinks.

“A were _what_?”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles spends the rest of the day ignoring how terrible he feels by talking to the girls. Cora is a lot more guarded than Malia, but easy enough to talk to. She tells him that Peter has his own place a few minutes away, because neither of them can really stand living with him, and that Malia is Peter’s daughter from a misguided one night stand many years ago, but she was stuck in coyote form until she was sixteen, so no one really knew about her. Malia shifts for him, and he really cant get over how crazy all of this is. Stiles, in return, offers up small bits of his past – he tells them about his mom, and her strange business. He tells them when Laura’s there, and relays her terrible jokes and occasional heartfelt words (Cora does the same white-knuckles and clenched-jaw that Derek does when he’s feeling an Emotion™, which Stiles doesn’t mention).

When Derek gets home, he’s carrying about five boxes of pizza with him.

“I want to keep him.” Malia declares, throwing an arm around Stiles’ shoulders. Somehow, it doesn’t hurt.

(He suspects that they’ve been taking his pain throughout the day, but if they wont mention it, he won’t.)

“He’s not a toy.” Derek huffs. He puts the boxes down on the coffee table before them and clears his throat. “How are you?”

“Okay.” Stiles rubs at the back of his neck, feeling awkward. “I should – I should get back home, actually. I didn’t realize how late it was. I don’t want to intrude –”

“Good thing you’re not, then.” Cora says. She opens the first box and forces a plate with a slice into his hands. “Eat it. You’re like a stick, dude.”

“I really shouldn’t –”

“We’re not asking you to go.” Derek stops him. Malia stares at him expectantly. Across the room, Laura smiles at him.

“I…” He swallows thickly. “Okay.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

“I think I know why I’m still here.” Laura says. It’s the middle of the night, and Stiles doesn’t know what _he’s_ still doing here. He has his own apartment. His own bed. At least, he isn’t taking Derek’s again. He’s on the couch now, with the lamp on because the dark is too much without Allison.

“Why?” he whispers.

“I thought I’d disappear after Derek finally got that this whole thing wasn’t his fault, but I still have work to do.” She sits on the end of the couch. “I’m going to help you.”

“What?” he hisses. “I don’t need any help.”

“Yes you do. And I’m the perfect person to give it.” She hums. Stiles stares at her.

“Where you this nosy when you were alive?”

“Pretty much.”

“The only thing I need help with is figuring out how to get Allison back.” He breathes, leaning back against the pillows.

He’s come up with a plan. Simple as it is, though, it might still be pretty hard. The plan is; a) get sober long enough to b) figure out how to summon Allison. Doesn’t sound too hard, but this is the longest he’s gone without taking anything since he was eighteen, and he’s itching for anything to get rid of the fire under his skin and the figures moving just at the edge of his vision. He’s sweating enough to fill a kiddy pool, and yet, he’s freezing. He can’t sleep.

Laura isn’t exactly helping.

“Allison?” She questions. He sighs.

“She’s…my friend. A ghost. She used to date my best friend in high school, but then…she died. She’s been with me ever since. But we got into a fight a few days ago, and I told her to disappear, and…” He looks away. “She did. And she never came back.”

“Oh.” She frowns. “You can just make us go away like that?”

“I don’t know.” He says honestly.

Laura doesn’t say anything to that. When he looks at where she was sitting, she’s gone.

After another hour of trying to sleep and no success, he sits up and rubs his eyes. He’s so tired, and so awake. The rings against his chest

The main lights flicker on, and Derek stands in front of the hallway, watching him.

“Uh. Hey.” Stiles croaks. “What’s up?”

“I heard you talking earlier.”

“Oh.” He winces. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“It’s okay. I couldn’t sleep anyway.” Derek assures him. He turns towards the kitchen, and Stiles’ breath catches in his throat.

Derek is shirtless.

Derek has a tattoo.

The tattoo just so happens to match the symbol that kept popping up in mom’s journals.

It’s three thick black swirls branching out from one point, and Derek has it smack between his shoulder blades. He glances back at Stiles, brows furrowed (although, honestly, when _aren’t_ they?). “Is something wrong?” he asks. Stiles stands.

“I – where did you get that tattoo?”

Derek’s face takes on a more guarded expression. “It’s my family’s symbol. Every pack has one. Why?”

He comes over a reaches out, wanting to touch. Derek’s turned around and grabbing his wrist in the blink of an eye, and Stiles watches him with wide eyes.

“Don’t.” he says roughly.

“My mom used to draw that symbol all the time.” Stiles whispers. “It’s all over her journals, scribbled in all the corners.” Derek’s hand is hot on his skin. “Did you…do you remember her? My mom? Did you ever meet her?”

Derek lets him go.

“No. I don’t think I did. Sorry.”

“But – she wrote about your family. Or, at least, someone in your family. She talked about ‘going to see Hale’ sometimes, and I never knew what it meant.” He runs a hand through his hair. This feels like – something. Something important. “Those people you wanted me to summon for you, when you asked me to meet you in the woods. Who were they?”

“We don’t have to talk about this now.”  Derek says, curt.

But Stiles can’t accept that.

He won’t.

“I want to. Maybe one of them knew her. Maybe they can tell me what the fuck happened at that tree.” He fiddles with his necklace, the rings clinking together. “Because this is just – it’s crazy, right? That our families knew each other, but we never met? We didn’t even know about it. And now I’m here in your apartment, sleeping on your couch.”

Derek crosses his arms over his chest.

“We’ll go later.”

“Why? We’re both awake now.” He goes back to the couch and flips on the main light, looking for where he left his (Derek’s, technically) sweat pants.

“Stiles, wait.” Derek insists. “don’t you think we should wait until you’re…better?”

Stiles pauses, frowning.

“What?”

“You’re going through withdrawal. You’re in pain, I can smell it. And it’s _four in the morning_. Maybe we should wait until you’re more...functional.”

And that?

For some reason, that makes Stiles _angry_. If Allison were here, she’d probably say some bullshit about him self-sabotaging, because she read a psychology textbook for fun one day and now she thinks she knows everything. But she’s not here. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever get her back again. And maybe it has something to do with that damn tree – which Derek apparently knows about, and which his dead family for sure knows about – and Derek wont take him there, because what, Stiles isn’t clean? He had no problem with that a few days ago, when he practically begged him to meet him in the woods.

“What do you care if I’m feeling ‘better’ or not?” He snaps. Derek frowns at him.

“I just meant –”

“That, what? You think you can _fix_ me, Derek? Cause you’re sober now and you know the answer to everything? Fuck you.”

“I didn’t say that!” Derek growls, eyes flashing crimson. “Don’t put words in my mouth! You look like a dead man walking, and last time you saw that tree you almost _were_ dead.”

“So?” Stiles jabs a finger into his chest. “You – _you_ , Hale, have cost me way more that your worth.”

“So then leave! No one is forcing you to stay!” Derek shoves him away roughly, and Stiles stumbles, shocked.

Less about the shove, more about the fact that it stung his shoulder.

“Fuck.” Derek hisses, eye’s fading back to _greenbluegold_.

Stiles presses a trembling hand to his shoulder, and it comes away red.

“I…” Stiles stares at his hand dumbly, all the fight drained out of him.

“What the fuck is going on?” Cora grumbles, trudging into the living room. She pauses when she smells the blood, eyes widening. “Derek, what – what did you _do_?”

“I didn’t – I didn’t mean –” Derek stutters, face pale. He’s looking at his clawed hands in horror, and for a moment, Stiles thinks he sees someone behind him. A woman, with sharp green eyes and an even sharper smile. He sucks in a shuddering breath, and blinks, and suddenly she’s gone, along with all the anger that had built in him so quickly. He presses his hand firmly against his shoulder and takes a step back.

“I’m leaving.” He decides.

He doesn’t give them a chance to argue. But why would they anyway?

 

 

* * *

 

 

He’s at the tree again.

He really has no idea why, but apparently not knowing where he is or how he got there is par for the course for him these days.

“It wasn’t his fault.” There’s that lady again. She’s dressed in a different outfit this time, though it still screams ‘high-powered business woman’, and the look in her eyes makes Stiles want to do something ridiculous, like bare his neck or bow down or something.

“Right. I provoked him.”

“No.” She shakes her head. “It’s not yours either.”

Stiles throws his arm out.

“Alright. So who’s is it then?”

She glances around, eyes narrowed. “I can’t say. She’ll hear – she’s gotten stronger.” Something about that the way she says it and the look in her eyes sends fear racing down his spine, chilling him to core. Stiles steps closer.

“What are you talking about?”

“Have you noticed it, Stiles?” her eyes bore into his. “When they disappear? There are less of us here than there should be. Less and less every day. She picks them off, one by one.”

_“You’ve been too distracted to notice. But there are - less of us. Here.” Allison said._

“Did ‘she’ take her – did she take Allison?” He asks, shaky.

“Your friend is safe, for now. You’re not strong enough to reach her yet. But if you’re anything like your mother, you will be.” The ghost woman says. Stiles takes another step and stumbles over a root, bloodied hand going out to steady himself. When it touches the stump, something like electricity shoots up his arm and spreads through his chest, and he gasps, pulling his hand away and subsequently falling back on his ass.

“Shit!” he swears.

The woman comes around the stump, looking down at him.

“Last time was too much. I’m sorry about that. I’m used to…someone else. But I’ll be gentler now.”

She pats the stump, like last time. Stiles stares at her, bewildered.

“No no no, wait, hold on. Did you – you knew my mom?” he asks.

The pieces fall into place, then, all at once. It should have been obvious, now that he thinks about it, but being high all the time doesn’t exactly increase your cognitive skills. The Hale his mom mentioned, where they are, this ghost’s knowledge of his family, her deep brown eyes. Familiar. Of course they are, he’d just seen them not too long ago. Cora’s eyes. _Her mom’s eyes_. He studies this woman, and he sees some of Derek and Laura too. Derek’s lips, his dark hair. The set of Laura’s shoulders, the slope of her neck, the determination in her eyes.

“You’re Talia Hale.” He breathes.

Her eyes bleed red.

“I am.”

“Derek…he wanted to bring me to your old house. He wanted me to summon you so he could tell you all how sorry he is.” He pauses. “I don’t know the whole story, but im guessing he doesn’t have much to be sorry about.”

Her expression goes soft, and sad. “I know he did. But you’re right – the fire wasn’t his fault. And I’m the only one left.”

“Everyone else moved on?” he wonders. She nods.

“When I became Alpha, I bound myself to this tree – the nemeton. I promised to protect it, and subsequently, Beacon Hills. I cannot leave until someone else does the same. Someone I trust will do a better job than I have.” She holds out a hand. Stiles lefts his hesitantly, afraid to touch. He doesn’t know what he’d like better – for his hand to go right through, or to hold on. “You’re the only one that can sop her before it’s too late, Stiles.”

“Oh no, _no_. No way.” He shakes his head vehemently. “I cannot be the Link to your Zelda, alright? I can’t. I’m – I’m a _drug_ _addict_ , and I’m probably going to lose my job, and then I’ll be homeless, because _newsflash_ – no one fucking likes me. I don’t have any special powers, I can just talk to dead people _occasionally_. None of that really says ‘hero’ to me, you know? And I’m definitely not binding myself to a magic tree stump, of whatever. I don’t even know what that means.”

She raises an eyebrow, an amused smile on her lips.

“There’s so much about yourself that you don’t know.”

“Yup. And I think I wanna keep it that way.”

“Stiles,” She says firmly, smile dropping. Her hand is still out, edges glowing softly, just like Laura’s do. “I’m not asking you to do this for me, or my family. I wish I could tell you more, show you more, but I can’t risk her finding me. If she gets her way, the whole world is at risk. You can’t let that happen.”

The whole world?

Fuck.

He takes her hand. It feels less like the surge of electricity from the tree, and more like tingling. She helps him up.

“What is it that you want me to do, exactly?”

“Let it guide you.” She says simply.

She disappears, blinking out of existence, and Stiles startles. He looks around, but she’s nowhere nearby. He takes a deep breath.

“‘Let it guide you.’ Okay. whatever that means.” Stiles presses a hand to the stump again, and the tingling starts up again, traveling up his arm and into his chest. He heaves himself up with a wince, and presses his other hand against his shoulder.

Okay, so. He’s sitting on the tree.

Now what?

“I’m here!” he tells it. “So…get with the guiding, I gue –”

 _He’s back in Beacon Hills high, standing in the hallway. There are students all around him, passing by and_ through _him, which is a sensation he never thought he’d ever feel. The walls are littered with posters promoting some spring dance, and it looks like it’s either between classes, or the beginning of the day. He drifts closer to the lockers._

_“…so hot, D, trust me.” someone in front of him says. Stiles comes closer._

_“Since when are teachers ‘hot’?” ‘D’ responds, sounding disgusted. He turns towards his locker, and Stiles’ eyes widen._

_It’s Derek._

_He’s only now that the last time Stiles had one of these, a teenager. His brows are still ridiculously thick, but his ears are still just a bit out of place, and he’s gained some muscle. He’s also carrying a basketball, like an extra from high school musical, and Stiles scoffs at it._

_“She’s a sub, dude, and she’s not even old.” His friend says._

_“Are you telling me you wanna_ date _a sub, Nick?” Derek asks, eyebrows furrowed._

_“Not…date, exactly.” ‘Nick’ wags his eyebrows up and down, and Derek groans._

_“That’s disgusting.”_

_“Uh, not what she looks like_ that _.” Nick turns Derek by his shoulder and points. Stiles turns around, and he spots her immediately._

_She’s tall, with tanned skin and shiny blonde hair. Her eyes are a piercing green, her smile a little too sharp when she aims it as the teens passing her by, and her shirt is undone one button too many. She is hot, Stiles does have to admit – but something about her makes him feel icky, like he hasn’t showered in a few days. She shoots her wicked smile at Derek and his friend, and waves before bouncing away._

_There’s something about her that’s familiar._

_Of course there is._

_He pushes away from the lockers and follows after her as he heads into the teacher’s break room. She seems relatively normal, making herself a cup of coffee and sitting to chat with_ Mr. Harris, gross _. She smiles suggestively at him, places her hand on his arm, and something reflects the sun off her chest._

_A necklace._

_One he knows he’s seen before._

_“_ Shit _.” He breathes._

 _“…say, tonight at ten? We can go to any bar you like.” The sub practically_ purrs _. “I’m just…so fascinated by chemistry, you know? But I never really have the patience for it, like History.”_

_Mr. Harris stammers something in reply, but that cold feeling Stiles felt last time is back._

He wakes up with a harsh gasp, the sun shining in his face and birds chirping around him. He sits up too quickly, his ribs protesting sharply and back aching from spending the night on a hard wooden surface. But the message is clear.

He needs to go to Allison’s house.

But first, he needs to change.

 

 

* * *

 

 

When Allison died, her remaining family (AKA, her father) packed up anything that fit in his car and drove off. Technically, he still owns the house, but no one’s lived in it for years. Stiles doesn’t know why he doesn’t just sell it. Maybe sentimental value. Maybe he’s just lazy. Either way, it’s good new for Stiles now, as he walks carefully past patches of blue flowers and picks the lock on the back door.

Everything in the house is covered in dusts, and it makes him sneeze, which isn’t a _great_ thing to do when you have cracked ribs.

“Fuck.” He hisses.

He moves through the house slowly, afraid of – something. Allison’s not here to guide him through it. He imagines, if she was, she’d probably have figured out what the fuck is happening by now. Since that woman in his vision? Memory? Whatever, was wearing her necklace. She still wore it – _wears_ it. She was buried with it. But he’s not going to go digging up his best friend’s corpse so he can get a better look. If he remembers correctly, she has a box with the same symbol.

_“It was a birthday gift. Apparently, its like a hundred years old. Cool, right?”_

“Very cool.” He breathes.

He stumbles into the garage and pauses, taking in the empty racks on either side. There are a few shell casings and bullets scattered on the floor, like Mr. Argent left in a hurry.

_“My parents are arms dealers. We have, like, a ton of fire arms in the house.”_

_“Ohhh, do you know how to use a gun?”_

_“Yeah. But I’m more into archery, personally.”_

He stuffs one of the shells and a bullet into his pocket, and continues his search of the house. When he finally gets to what he assumes was Allison’s room, he takes a shaky breath, unable to force himself past the doorframe.

Her room is just so… _her_. Her backpack with all her books is still propped up against the bed. Her bed is made, a book open and face down on the covers. He takes a step forward. The book on the bed isn’t covered with the same thick layer of dust as the rest of the house. He picks it up gingerly, swallowing thickly.

Maybe this is where Allison went when she wasn’t with him, before. To her old house. Old room. How many times had she been here, after she died?

Something crashes downstairs.

Stiles jumps, whirling around. He tosses the book back down on the bed and grabs the bow to his left – he doesn’t know how to use it, and he doesn’t have any arrows, but he can still swing it at whoever or _whatever_ is in the house. He steps carefully, heart hammering, and tries to make his way silently down the stairs. He can hear the soft clacking of heels against hard wood flooring, and his mind jumps to that icky woman from his visions. When he gets to the final step, it creaks, and the clacking stops.

Stiles jumps down and whirls around the corner, smacking right into the other person.

“Lydia?” he squeaks, bewildered.

“Stiles?” She frowns. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“I…could ask you the same thing.” He lowers the bow.

“No, you really can’t.” She narrows her eyes at him. “If I find out that you’ve been stealing things from here and pawning them off to fuel your drug habit I will _kill_ y –”

“Woah, woah, _hey_!” he holds out his hands. “First of all, rude. I would never. And, second of all – how do you even know anything about my drug habits. Don’t you hate me? And didn’t I hear you live in Chicago now, or something? What are you doing back in Beacon Hills?”

She gives him a calculated look, green eyes narrow and perfect brows furrowed. She tosses her red hair over her shoulder and sighs.

“If I tell you, you have to swear to me that you will not tell another living soul, I _will_ ruin you.”

“My life can’t possibly get any worse. Shoot.” He encourages. She crosses her arms over her chest.

“Sometimes I get…this feeling. Like have somewhere I need to be. And then I black out, and when I come to, I’m somewhere else, and I need to…to scream. And there’s always a dead body there. It’s been happening a lot more recently, and today…” She takes a deep breath. “I woke up here. I don’t remember flying in, or driving in, because apparently I took my car here. I just…I have this feeling that something’s going on, and that I’m supposed to come see it.” She glances at him. “Don’t tell anyone.”

“I won’t. _Jesus_ , Lydia.” He frowns. “Not that im not glad you opened up to me, or anything, but…why did you tell me this? Like I said, you made it pretty clear in high school that you hated me.”

“I didn’t…” She huffs. “I didn’t hate you, exactly. Although, being seen with you wouldn’t have helped my social status. You just had this _air_ about you. Like…” she trails off.

“Like what?”

“Like you’re not quite alive.” She whispers. Stiles raises an eyebrow.

“Wow. Okay.” he sucks in a breath. “I, um. I’m not actually surprised. I can see and talk to dead people, if that makes you feel any better.”

She gives him a skeptical look.

“What, like, ghosts?”

“Yes?” he rolls his eyes. “You just told me you have a magic sixth sense that helps you find dead bodies, so many try not to look so shocked. With all the weird shit that happens in this town, I’m probably not the first.” He doesn’t mention his mom, or her grandmother. Lydia keeps staring at him for a few moments.

“You never said what you were doing here.” She finally reminds him. He fidgets, fingering the rings around his neck.

“I’m not really sure. I thought maybe I could find clue to help me with…something I’m working on.”

“Right.” She narrows her eyes at him. “Well. Did you happen to find any dead bodies?”

“No?”

“Then I guess my job here is done. This was _not_ a pleasure, and I will _not_ be seeing you soon. Goodbye, Stiles.” She turns on her heel and leaves the way she came, the scent of lavender hanging around him like a ghost of her. He stares dumbly after her, confused and just a tad curious.

If there’s no body, then why is she here?

 

 

* * *

 

 

The house is a bust. Stiles doesn’t find anything really useful, and he doesn’t manage to conjure Allison either. He does, however, come to the conclusion that this woman in his vision is a Hunter. She must have been, right? It can’t be a coincidence that her and Allison have the same necklace. Maybe it’s like a hunter symbol, so they can recognize each other instantly.

“When are you gonna apologize to my brother?”

“AH!” Stiles screams, turning to the left, and his apartment tilts dangerously. He leans back against the wall and takes a deep breath, then gags. Fuck.

“ _Fuck_.” He breathes.

Laura floats in front of him, eyes narrowed. Realization floods her features.

“You’re going through withdrawal.” She sighs. “I don’t know what kind of shit you’ve been taking, but if you’re quitting, you shouldn’t just quit cold turkey. Your heart could give out.”

“How do you know?” He huffs.

She presses her lips together, before drifting closer. The air around her is cooler, and stiles is somewhat grateful for it – he feels like he’s burning from inside out, stomach rolling and skin shiny with sweat.

“My dad was an addict.” She finally says, blunt. “Derek doesn’t remember it, I think. He was clean by the time Cora was born. But I remember – he was human. He used to come home really late, and him and Peter fought about it all the time. Dad wasn’t – he never mistreated us, really. He just checked out a lot, mentally. One night he got really fucking high, and didn’t notice Derek going through his shit until he almost ate a pill. Pushed him so hard he broke his arm on the coffee table.” She swallows hard. “That was the final straw. Mom was – pissed. So _angry_. She told him if he didn’t quite, right then, she was leaving him, and taking us with her. I’d never seen dad cry so much.” She stares off to the side for a second, then squares her shoulders.

“He did it. With the help of some clinic in the next town over. But for a long time, he…he smelled like he was dying.” She shakes her head. “You can’t do this alone.”

“Don’t have any other option.” He grunts, and pushes away from the wall. She rolls her yes.

“Right. Like My dumb ass brother wouldn’t be happy to help.”

“Not after this morning. Or last night. Whatever.” He carefully unzips his hoodie on his way to the bathroom, and looking in the mirror.

The claw marks are smaller than he remembers them being, probably because the blood is cleaned away and they’re scabbed over now. Laura’s eyes widen when she sees it.

“Jesus, did he do that?”

“Yes and no.” Stiles winces, running shaking fingers over them.

“What do you mean?”

“You mom said something made us – angry. Influenced our emotions, somehow.” At least, that’s what he got from the conversation. “Best guess is that, based off what she said, there’s a ghost running around doing something to other ghosts to…I don’t know what. That’s probably what I have to find out next.”

“Wait, wait.” Laura holds up a hand. “What do you mean my _mom_?”

Stiles pauses.

Right. He never told her.

“Your mom’s ghost is kinda guarding some huge tree stomp in the preserve. And giving me visions of the past, somehow.” He slums down onto the toilet lid, feeling beyond exhausted.

“The nemeton.” She realizes. “Fuck, I – I _knew_ it. She was still bound to it when she died, of course it would keep her there.” She paces in front of him, and it’s making him dizzy. He closes his eyes. “She must know what’s going on, then. Maybe she has something to do with why I haven’t been able to cross into the preserve. Do you think you’d be able to take me with you? I should – hey. Stiles?”

“ _Stiles_.”

 

He sleeps.


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You didn’t have to follow me. What could possibly happen to me in the bathroom?” He gets out.
> 
> “Lydia said I should make sure you don’t pass out and brain yourself on a toilet bowl. It's not a very good way to go.” He pauses. “I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i meant for this chapter to be longer, but i got stuck on write the last bit and i didnt want to wait too long to post this, so I'll add it to the next chapter. Might end up adding yet another extra chapter later.
> 
> enjoy!

Stiles wakes to a loud bang, the sound of wood splintering, and nausea making his stomach roll and flip in very, _very_ unpleasant ways. He’s still slumped against the toilet, the knob digging into his spine, and he blinks, disoriented.

“Stiles!” Someone – no, wait, Derek.

Derek?

“Derek?” He squints. There’s two of him, overlapping each other, but that’s not the issue. “What are you doing in my bathroom?”

“I…” Derek stares at him, eyes wide and glowing red. “I thought…”

“He came to apologize, presumably, and heard your heart beating _way_ slow and thought you were dying, so he broke down your door.” Laura explains, standing next to her brother. Stiles pushes himself with weak, shaky arms and leans forward, not trusting himself to stand.

“Woah, wait. What? Did you – you _broke down_ my door?!” he groans.

“I’ll fix it.” Derek says quickly. He kneels down on front of him, hands hovering. Stiles feels like death warmed over (ha! Maybe he _is_ ), fire and ice fighting to take him over. His bathroom dances in the edges of his vision. Behind her brother, Laura looks a weird mix of concerned and intrigued. “You sounded like…what happened? After you left last night? Are you okay?” his hand goes to Stiles’ shoulder, but he doesn’t actually touch. He looks guilty. Stiles leans forward, just enough so that it does, and Derek’s hand feels cool over his scarred skin – a sign that he really is fucking _burning_ , Jesus.

“It’s just a scratch. I’m good.” He croaks. Pauses “Well. Obviously, I’m not good. I’m _so_ dope sick, dude. I feel like I’m dying.”

“You’re not dying.” Derek snaps, running a hand over Stiles’ forehead. “I’m. I’m sorry, about last night. I don’t know what came over me. I haven’t lost control like that in…years.”

“S’okay. I was kind of a dick. I should be the one apologizing. You just want to help me.” Stiles huffs, humorless. “God knows I need it, right? I’m a fucking mess. I’m also kind of hopeless, though, and a selfish bastard, so I don’t really know why you’re trying. You don’t even know me.”

Derek pauses, sour expression softening.

“You’re not hopeless.” He sys softly. “Don’t say that.” He helps haul Stiles up to his feet, steadying him with hands on his waist when the world tips and spins. “Come on. You need to eat.”

He feels sick just thinking about it.

“Doesn’t sound like such a good idea, dude. I’m _this_ close to barfing all over you right now.”

“Please don’t.” Derek brings him to his tiny kitchen and deposits him on the folding chair in front of his table. The table itself is tiny and wobbly and stained with god knows what. The more time Stiles spends in his apartment while sober, the more he hates it. He doesn’t remember how he got the furniture. He doesn’t remember how the dent in the wall got there, where the blood stain on one of the cushions came from. The only memories this place holds are of him getting sick in his bathroom, or the rare night when he was out of drugs and out of money, so he ate cold soup on the ouch and watched TV while Allison provided commentary.

God. Allison.

He watches Derek rummage through his kitchen, but he knows he won’t find anything particularly good. All Stiles has is cereal and microwaveable soup cups. The milk in the fridge is most definitely sour, if the look on Derek’s face is anything to go by.

“Okay. I’m taking you out to lunch then.” Derek decides.

Ugh.

“No, wait, Derek…” he swallows thickly. “We need to talk. Something…something’s happening. In town. And I need your help.”

Derek frowns.

“What do you mean?”

“This might sound really crazy, but – but that tree? That – _nemewhatever_? I went back to it last night, and I met your mom. She’s like, haunting it, or she’s stuck to it, or something. And she…she showed me something. A piece of the past. She said there’s something here, in Beacon Hills, fucking with the ghosts, and she also kind of implied that once I defeat it I become the new protector of the tree of something? Which is. A lot to deal with. And I’m not entirely sure I can do it alone.” He’s proud of himself for not throwing up in the middle of that. Derek just stares at him, frozen for a moment.

“What.”

“I don’t know if I can make it any more clear.” Stiles says. Derek leans back against the counter slowly, and runs a hand over his mouth.

“She showed you a piece of the past? What part specifically?” he finally asks.

“Um. You were there. You were in high school, talking to a friend. And there was this…this woman. I think she was supposed to be your substitute teacher, or something.” Stiles pauses, because Derek looks sick, all of the sudden, which doesn’t make any sense. “I…I think she might have been a hunter. I used to know one, and she wore the same necklace, so I thought – Derek? Are you okay?”

“This substitute. What did she look like?” Laura appears beside him, sitting on air, and Stiles blinks.

“Uh.”

“Stiles.” Laura reaches out and slaps her hand against the table, and it _rattles_. Stiles jumps, and her eyes widen. “Did I just…?”

“Yeah.” Stiles breathes. He almost forgot about that whole ghosts-might-be-able-to-touch-me-now thing. Although, this may be more about how long Laura’s been a ghost, but still. She hasn’t been able to touch anything else so far. So maybe it’s because of him.

“Is Laura here?” Derek asks, voice shaking. Stiles nods.

“She wants me to tell her what the substitute looked like. But I don’t remember.” He sighs. “Sorry. I don’t really remember a lot about what happened last night.”

“So you go back.” Laura suggests. “You said she gives you a vision every time you go? So go back. Maybe the next thing you see will be the final piece of the puzzle. Because, I gotta be honest, this doesn’t make any sense.”

“I know!” Stiles throws his hands up, and winces. Okay, sudden movements are _not_ a good idea. “All I know is that – that ghosts are disappearing. Allison told me, before she.” He swallows. “Ghosts are disappearing, and I think your mom said something about a ‘her’ that was the cause of it, but it’s not like I know this ‘her’ that she was talking about. I think that might be what the visions are about.”

“What’s she saying?” Derek asks, an almost desperate edge to his voice.

“That I should go back to the tree. See if I have another vision.”

“You almost died last time.” Derek shakes his head. “No. I can’t let you do that.”

“That’s sweet, and all, but I don’t think I have a choice.” Stiles sucks in a breath and lets it out roughly. “I’m going. I have to find out what’s going on. I need – ” _I need to get Allison back. I need to stop being so fucked up. I need to close my eyes and sleep and sleep and_ – “We need to figure out what’s happening. Something tells me letting it all play out won’t do us any good.”

“Fine.” Derek says. “Let’s go.”

 

 

* * *

 

At the border of the preserve, Laura stops abruptly. She puts a hand up and presses it against the empty air, pushing against it and meeting resistance. Stiles stops beside her and hesitantly puts a hand on her shoulder, only somewhat surprised when it actually lands. His nails are still painted.

It’s been less than a week since this all started. It feels like years.

“Sorry.” He murmurs. She steps back, and his hand falls.

“I’ll figure it out.” She says softly. She blinks out of existence between one breath and the next, and Stiles looks at Derek. He looks nervous and still somewhat sick, which Stiles still can’t figure out the reason for. The wind shifts, and suddenly he’s tightening his steadying grip on Stiles’ elbow, brows furrowing and face tilting up. It’s kind of funny, actually.

“You hear something, Lassie?” He huffs. Derek just scowls at him.

“There’s someone here. They smell…off.” He looks around, like something’s gonna suddenly come at them from the bushes. “We should go.”

“If you mean ‘we should go to the tree already’ then, yeah, we should.” Stiles starts forward, and Derek tugs him back. “Hey! I’m dizzy enough as it is, asshole.”

“Sorry.” Derek relaxes his grip. “I just…I don’t want you to get hurt. More than you already are, anyway.”

“Why? You’d known me for, like four days.”

“Five, technically.” Derek watches him, expression too complicated to parse out. “Stiles, I…” he huffs, frustrated. “I’m not good. At this. Feelings. But I…I have them. For you. You’re obviously smart, when you aren’t high out of your mind, and sarcastic and witty and… _brave_.” He runs a hand through his hair, cheeks pink. “I like you. Or, I’m starting to. And I’m probably a terrible person for telling you this, because you’re obviously not in a place where you can handle a relationship. _Jesus_.”

“Oh.” Stiles breathes.

Derek _likes_ him.

Derek thinks he’s smart. And brave. No one’s called him anything other than a useless junkie for… _years_.

“Derek, I…” his throat feels too dry, all of the sudden. He doesn’t know what to say. How to feel. He knows there’s _something_ there, drawing Stiles to him. but Derek’s right – he’s not in the right space for a relationship, he can’t even take care of _himself_ right now, doesn’t know how be alone with himself.

“Stiles?” A familiar voice calls. Stiles blinks, and the rest of the woods flood in.

He’d been so focused on Derek’s eyes (shining _bluegreengold_ , beautiful). Everything else fades away.

“Lydia?” He frowns. She looks – dirty. She’s in the same clothes Stiles last saw her in, but parts of her skirt and shirt are torn, dirt smudges on her face and body, leaves in her hair. There are tear tracks down her cheeks, leaving streaks of pale, shiny skin. She stumbles her way over to him, green eyes wide and whole body trembling. “Jesus, fuck, Lydia, what happened? Are you hurt?”

“I – I don’t know how I got here.” She whimpers. “I don’t remember anything after talking to you yesterday.” She wraps her arms around herself and looks at Derek. “Who is he?”

“Derek Hale.” Stiles reaches out and places a hand on her trying to make sure she’s real, and not a ghost. “She’s real, right? I’m not…”

“She is.” Derek says softly.

“Of course I’m real.” Lydia snaps, sounding a bit more like herself. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Forgive me if I have trouble telling the living and the dead apart, Lyds, they just look so damn similar sometimes.” He says dryly. She sniffs.

“Right. That.” She runs a hand over her hair like she’s trying to fix it, but her hand shakes too much, and her hair is too much of a mess. She’s trying to slip on a mask, trying to be okay. but he can see right through it.

“Lydia.” He says softly. Gentle. “Are you alright?”

She hakes.

“I don’t know.” She finally whispers. “I don’t know. I don’t know what I’m doing here. I don’t know why this keeps happening to me. I keep – I keep drawing this _tree_ on everything I get my hands on, and I keep waking up places I don’t remember going to, and up until now I’ve never been in this part of Beacon Hills before, but I just woke up on this huge tree stump and I keep hearing _things_ –” she cuts herself off with a choked inhale and shakes her head. “I want to be done with this.”

“A tree stump?” Derek asks, urgent.

“I all comes back to that fucking stump, huh?” Stiles sighs.

“I dream about it.” Lydia says quietly. “All the time. I dream about a woman I’ve never met before, and I keep hearing laughing and howling and sometimes I…” She looks at Derek, curiously, something like realization on her face. “I smell smoke.”

He goes rigid.

“We have to go” Stiles decides, tugging on Derek’s arm. “Lydia. Come with us.”

“Where are you going?”

“To the gods damned magical tree stump, _obvs_. I have questions and it and dear Mama Hale have the answers.” He tells her. She blinks at him, still shivering, still dirty. She’s not wearing any shoes. Derek looks at him like this is possibly the worst idea he’s ever come up with. Stiles swallows down the feelings and fear and exhaustion lodged in his throat and walks. He lets the same tugging feeling in his chest from that first day lead him forward again, past the too green trees and the crows with too human eyes, and suddenly he’s there, and his ears pop like he’s on an airplane.

“Stiles.” Talia greets him warmly. She looks behind him, and her expression softens, the twist of her lips sad. “oh, _m’hijo_.”

“She’s here. Your mom.” Stiles tells him.

Derek makes a soft, wounded sound in the back of his throat, and looks around desperately. She’s across from them, behind the stump again, in another outfit. Until the first two times this one isn’t so formal. It looks like a silk robe, and he can’t tell if she’s wearing anything underneath it.

“Where…” he starts. Stiles points.

“Right there. She’s smiling at you.” His throat feels tight. “You have her cheekbones. I guess I know where you get your supermodel good looks from, now.” He jokes. Derek laughs, and it’s watery.

“She’s getting stronger.” Talia tell him. “I don’t know how much longer I can keep her out.”

“It’s you. You’re keeping the ghosts out of the preserve, aren’t you.” He realizes. She nods. “Laura…she wants to see you.”

“I am.” She looks away, past them. “I can’t afford to let the barrier down, even for a moment. I…I wish I could. But I’ll see her soon.” She focuses on him. “Tell her I’ll see her soon.”

“I will.” He promises. She smiles.

“I know. Stilinskis never go back on their word. I know from experience.” She looks at him knowingly, and his knees feel weak. He wants to ask about his mom. About her relationship with the Hales, if she’s okay, where she is now. He’s too afraid to think of conjuring her. Too afraid he’ll be selfish and decide to keep her here, in this hell with him, like he did with Allison. Maybe it’s a good thing he doesn’t really know how to use these shit powers. “You know what to do by now, I’m sure.”

He looks down at the stump.

“Yeah. I do.”

And the forest disappears.

_He’s in a parking lot, in the back seat of a car – a jeep, but a much more modern model.  He breathes in and almost chokes on a sweet, syrupy scent all around him. It’s like someone burnt sugar, or something, and then slathered the car with it. The smell distracts him so much, it takes him a moment to realize that there are people in the front seats, talking._

_“…for paying for me.” A somewhat familiar voice says._

_It’s Derek._

_Of course it is._

_“Oh, it’s no trouble, sweetheart. I’m the one that invited you out, after all.” The substitute from the last vision says. Her voice is just as sickeningly sweet as the scent of her car, and Stiles shivers. Her necklace glints in the moonlight. She smiles, too wide, and rests her hand lightly on Derek’s arm._

_“I wanted to pay, though. I want to take care of you, for once.” Derek mumbles, shy. His cheeks are pink._

_“Oh, honey. You take care of me plenty.” Her fucking fingers move up to touch his face – her gross adult fingers on his teenage face – and she hums. “It’s getting late. I should take you back home. We can meet again tomorrow.”_

_“I can’t – I’m busy tomorrow.” Derek says, disappointment clear on his face. “We’re doing a family night. My cousins are coming, and I promised my mom I’d be there.”_

_“Oh.” Her smile gets impossible wider. “I’m sure you can sneak away for just a little bit, though, right? Meet me here around nine, and we’ll chat for a bit, how about that?”_

_“Yeah.” Derek hesitantly grabs her hand. He swallows thickly. “Kate?”_

_“Yes, sugar?”_

_“I think…I think im falling in love with you.” He says, soft and tentative. Stiles feels sick, watching. ‘Kate’ laughs, a delighted sound, but it feels wrong. Twisted._

_“Oh, that’s adorable.”_

_“_ Fuck. Derek… _” Stiles sighs, heart clenching painfully. He looks so young, and Kate looks older than even Stiles does now._

_The scene in front of him disappears, all the sudden, and then he’s back in the woods. At first, he thinks he’s back and the vision is over, but its night, and he’s in a different place. Fire blazes in front of him, the heat of it just barely touching his skin, and he stumbles back, eyes wide. There’s screaming and howling in the air, and someone is out on the porch, couched on the floor. Stiles inches closer, and he feels nauseous when he recognizes the figure at Talia Hale. She’s kneeling in front of what looks like a child, who’s wailing._

_“Please, please, please.” Talia breathes, pushing the child back. There’s blue light pressing against the kid’s back, and Talia’s eyes bleed red and she snarls._

_Someone runs past Stiles then, and grabs the child’s shoulders and pulls them back. The kid trips back onto the grass with he flash of blue, and the person turns towards Stiles._

_The man from the first vision._

_He’s looking right at him, which is unexpected._

“Who are you?” _He breathes._

“You’re smart, aren’t you? Don’t you know by now?” _The guy asks. His eyes shine in the light of the fire, bluegreengold._

“You’re…” _He cant get it out. Derek’s father grabs him, spinning in away from the fire, and points to a spot in the distance, between the trees._

_There Kate stands, leaning casually against a tree._

_Smiling._

_The scene changes again. Stiles is starting to feel dizzy, and he doubts its from smoke inhalation._

_He’s in another part of the woods. And Peter’s there, and he’s – he’s naked, which is weird. His eyes glow red, which is weirder. Derek is there, eyes glowing an electric blue, and_ oh shit Chris Argent _is behind him, armed with a gun and aiming it at Peter. Kate is in the werewolf’s grasp, held up in the air by her neck, and she’s got that fucking_ smile _on her face. Peter snarls, and he’s getting harrier and hairier and –_

_This is probably what Cora meant when she said ‘Alpha Shift’._

_“Peter, let her go.” Chris shouts. “I know she hurt you, but she’ll pay for it. Hunters have ways of dealing with their own.”_

_“Oh, do they?” Peter growls, voice deep and warped. “I don’t think so. Big brother can’t bail her out this time.”_

_Wait. Big brother?_

_“Peter.” Derek growls, teeth bared. He launches himself at his uncle, but it’s too late – Peter digs his claws in Kate’s neck, and blood spurts out and gushes over his ridiculously hair arm. She makes a horrible wet choking noise, and her body hits the ground with a thud when Derek tackles his uncle. Stiles presses a hand to his mouth and tries to breathe deeper, around the tightness in his chest._

_Derek digs his teeth into Peter’s neck, and his eyes bleed red._

_The scene changes._

_Stiles feels cold and weak, the edges of the scene dark, but he recognizes himself._

_Barely._

_He’s a twig, skin and bones, and he’s angry. Derek is in front of him, scowling, and Stiles realizes – this is the night he stormed out of Derek’s apartment. The night he had the second vision. He watches his expression shift from annoyance to anger, watches himself shout bullshit just to make Derek angry._

_“Don’t put words in my mouth! You look like a dead man walking, and last time you saw that tree you almost were dead.” Derek snaps_

_“So? You – you, Hale, have cost me way more that your worth.”_

_“So then leave! No one is forcing you to stay!” And then Derek pushes him. Stiles feels a phantom pain in his chest, over the cold seeping into his bones._

“Well well well, what do we have here? _” That sickeningly sweet voice says._

_Kate is standing behind Derek, green eyes bright and smile wicked._

“I’m going to stop you.” _He grits out._

_He can’t breathe._

“Oh?” _She laughs. “_ That’s cute.”

Someone screams, and Stiles wakes up.

 

 

\---

 

He wakes up gasping for breath and shaking out of his skin. His ribs hurt, thought that’s probably expected. They don’t hurt like they’ve just been broken, so he’s assuming no superhumanly strong werewolves gave him CPR this time. His ears are ringing. Dripping. He lays on the stump and shivers and blinks at Talia’s ghostly form until the words start to filter in.

“ -iles. Can – ”

“Sorry, I – know what – can you – me?”

He rolls over onto his side – a great feat on his part – and Lydia and Derek are there, pressed close to the edge of the tree. Derek’s eyes are glowing red, and he reaches out as soon as he sees that Stiles is looking, and pulls him to the edge of the stump.

“Fuck. Your ears.” He says, voice rough and muffled. Stiles blinks slowly. “Stiles, you’re freezing. This was a bad idea.”

“N-not much you can do about it now, though, Sourwolf.” Stiles stutters. Derek huffs at him, tugging off his jacket and draping it over Stiles’ shoulders.

Leather and pine. Its starting to smell like home.

He shakes the thought away and passes it off as another shiver from the cold. Lydia looks between the two of them and crosses her arms.

“I think an explanation is definitely owed.”

Yeah. That’s fair.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Derek takes them to this place that isn’t quite an IHOP, but might have been at one point, or was maybe trying it’s best to be one. Derek insists that he needs to eat, so he orders himself some pancakes, even though he knows he probably wont be able to really taste them. At least they’re soft.

The ringing in his ears isn’t gone. The waitress looks him and Lydia up and down warily, but Derek flashes her an alarmingly charming smile, and she backs off.

“What did she say?” Stiles asks, for maybe the fifth time already, and probably a bit too loudly.

Lydia frowns. “She said our orders almost ready.” She leans forward. “I’m sorry…I don’t know why I screamed. I didn’t think it would hurt you.” She says, almost too soft for him to hear.

“I should have taken you to the hospital.” Derek says. Stiles cocks his head, frowning.

“Wait, what? Lydia, what did you do?”

“I…” She shakes her head. “I don’t know. You were just _lying_ there, and I kept smelling smoke, and then I felt – I felt like I had to do something. Like there was something stuck in my throat that I had to get out. So…I screamed.”

“And burst my eardrums.” Derek grumbles.

“Huh.” Their orders are set down in front of them, and Stiles wishes the sight of fresh, perfectly good pancakes didn’t make him want to throw up right now.

He stares at the melting butter, mind whirring.

Kate. Allison’s aunt Kate, who used to pick her up from school at the beginning of junior year. Her aunt Kate, who died. She was the sub in his visions. She’s a hunter. She manipulated Derek, somehow, just to get to him family. To _kill_ his family. He thinks of teen Derek’s face, shy and open and earnest when he tells Kate that he’s in love with her, and her horrible laugh and toxic green eyes. His eyes burn.

On second thought, maybe he will throw up.

“Excuse me.” He mutters, and gets up from the table before anyone cans top him. he hurries over to the bathroom and just barely makes it to a toilet before he gags into the bowl.

Nothing happens. He hasn’t eaten.

“Fuck.” He croaks.

He doesn’t know what to do.

“Stiles.” Derek murmurs. He’s right there, now, patting Stiles’ back.

“You didn’t have to follow me. What could possibly happen to me in the bathroom?” He gets out.

“Lydia said I should make sure you don’t pass out and brain yourself on a toilet bowl. Its not a very good way to go.” He pauses. “I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“I’m not.” Stiles admits. He stands up and leans against the side of the stall.

Should he tell Derek what he knows? What he saw?

How can he?

“Your pancakes are getting cold.” Derek tells him. His hands come up to Stiles’ face, turning it gently. “Your ears aren’t bleeding anymore, but we should probably take you to the doctor anyway. My hearing is back to normal, but I have super healing, so – ”

“Derek.” he interrupts.

He thinks back to how Derek looked in the kitchen. He was probably thinking about Kate. He’d looks sick and scared and tired, and Stiles knows it’ll be worse when he tells him about what he’s seen. What he knows.

“You look a lot like your dad.” He says instead. Derek lets him go, surprised.

“You…you saw him? In the vision?”

“Yeah.” It’s not a lie. Stiles licks his lips and backs away, feeling unsteady. “We should – food. Getting cold, remember?”

“Right.” Derek gives him a weird look, but doesn’t say anything as they make their way back to the table.

Stiles chews his pancakes slowly. They don’t taste like anything.

He spares a glance around the rest of the not-IHOP. Unfortunately for him, there are ghosts everywhere. Maybe it’s the fact that this place is sketchy as all hell, or maybe it the fact that he’s been sober for more than one day. There’s an old man with the back of his head blown out miming eating something in a booth across the room. A woman with burned hands and drooping skin sits at the island, in uniform. A man practically drenched in blood, glass sticking out of every part of him and neck bent at an awkward angle, stares at Stiles from the entrance. There are more, some of them obviously dead, some seemingly normal until their hands pass through busy waiters. The man at the door doesn’t stop staring.

“Hey, Stilinski.” Lydia calls. Stiles blinks.

It sounds like she’s been calling him for a while.

“Sorry. What?”

“I was wondering what you saw at the tree.” She narrows her eyes. “But now I think I’m more interested in what you’re seeing right now.” She pauses. “You can really…see ghosts?”

“Yeah.” He stares at his plate. It's basically still full. “Ever since I can remember. My mom could do it too.”

“How many ghosts are here right now?” She asks.

Stiles glances back. The man is full on glaring now. The burned waitress is looking too, now, dull eyes wide and curious.

_Not exactly glowing, just. Brighter than everything else around you._

What does that even mean? Are ghosts even more drawn to him now than they were before?

Trying to get sober was a mistake.

“Too many.” Stiles finally whispers. He shakes his head.

He can't do this.

“Can we actually – can we get this to go, or something? I’m not really feeling this place. We should really be trying to figure all this magical shit out, anyway, so. Yeah.” He gets outs.

 _“Hey! You can see us?”_ Someone says, behind him. Stiles doesn’t turn around. He clenches his jaw and stares at his plate.

“Yeah. We can do that.” Derek says slowly.

_“Don’t ignore me! I saw you looking.”_

“Great.” Stiles closes his eyes and breathes. “Perfect.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Why are we here?” Lydia asks, brows furrowed.

Derek parks the car and sighs, looking around. The parking lot of Beacon Hills High is empty, thankfully. Stiles doesn’t really know why they would come here, but at least it’s ghost free. Of course, he also knows that there should definitely be ghosts here, so Kate’s probably taken them.

“My family has a few… _vaults_ hidden around Beacon hills.” Derek explains. “They were built back when the town was first founded, and updated throughout the years. Everything valuable to us, or dangerous, we kept in the vaults. Including our library. Any information we might need to stop whatever’s happening, we can find in the vaults.” He slides out of the car. Stiles looks back at Lydia and shrugs before going after him.

Derek waits for them both before going around the back of the school sign and lifting a hand, claws extended. Lydia’s eyes widen.

“They can only be opened by Hale claws.” He says. And then he sticks his hand into a hole Stiles has never seen before, and suddenly the sign ins moving and he’s staring down into a dark pit in the ground, the stairs disappearing into nothing. Stiles shakes his head.

“No.”

Derek frowns at him.

“What do you mean ‘no’?”

“I’m claustrophobic as hell, dude. No way am I going down there.” Stiles huffs. Derek just keeps frowning.

“It’s not a small space.”

“But it’s underground. There are probably no windows.”

“Stiles, please.” Derek sighs. “If it’s too much, you can leave. But we need to figure this out. If my mother told you we have to do something, then we –”

“I’ve already figured it out.” Stiles snaps. “Kate Argent’s ghost is going around taking other’s ghosts souls, or something like that.”

Derek stares at him, eyes wide and face pale, and what he said finally catches up with him.

The unexplained anger he’s feeling drains out him, and he’s left feeling like shit. He can see _her_ eyes, over Derek’s shoulder, and her Cheshire cat grin, too wide and too sharp. For a moment, he thinks maybe he’s in wonderland. Hopes that he’s a little boy somewhere, who tripped over a branch and bumped his head and this is all one elaborate _dream_ , and mom and dad will come looking for him soon and take him away from this place.

That’s not the case.

“Kate?” Derek breathes.

“Kate Argent. Allison’s aunt?” Lydia asks, confused. Stiles blinks rapidly, feeling cold, and Kate’s eyes don’t fade away.

“I – I know I just dumped a lot on you, big guy, but does this creepy vault have any sort of magical protection around it?” Stiles asks urgently, gaze locked on Kate. She’s a vague, fuzzy form in front of him, but he knows it’s her. He can feel it now, her influence.

“It…yes.” Derek finally stammers out.

“Cool. Awesome. Lets go.” Stiles shaves at them both until they’re all stumbling down the stairs, and the door shuts with a metallic thud.

It’s pitch black as soon as the door closes, and though he knows Derek is right beside him, he panics.

When his mom died, he used to have nightmares about being trapped in her coffin with her corpse, buried too deep underground for anyone to hear his screaming. He’d wake up in the middle of the night, crying and gasping for breath, heart pounding in his ears, and the dark he woke up to would only make it worse. He feels like that now, heart stuttering oddly in his chest and breath catching in his lungs. He presses a hand to his chest and gasps when he feels something grab at him in the dark. Did she get in? No, no, Derek said-

“Stiles, calm down.” That’s Derek now, voice in his ears. “Try and take a deep breath. Look at me.”

 And then there are a pair of glowing red eyes in front of him, the light soft, but enough to illuminate the sides of Derek’s nose and his lashes. “That’s it. I’m right here. Breathe with me.” His hand is moved, from his own chest to Derek’s. he can feel his heart beat, strong and steady and even under his palm. He tries to take a deep breath when Derek does and he feels like he’s choking on it.

“We should have taken him to the hospital. Or rehab.”

“Trust me, he wouldn’t have let us.”

“He won't be around to ‘let’ us do anything if he dies of a _heart attack_ in your family’s weird vault!”

“h-heart att-tack?” Stiles gasps out.

“You’re having heart palpitations.” Lydia’s voice says, slightly farther away. “Most likely a result of your unsupervised, impromptu detox. And the panic attack.”

“W-way to s-s-sugar coat it.” He sucks in a breath that rattles his chest, and it hurts.

“Just try and breathe, Stiles. It’s okay. You’re safe.”

“I can’t see.” Stiles stresses.

“I know. I know. I'm going to turn the light on. Just…” Derek squeezes his wrist gently. “Wait right here, okay? I will be right back, I swear.”

He disappears, and for a moment, Stiles feels like he’s floating. He’s lost in space, pulse in his ears.

The lights flicker on, row by row, and Stiles blinks.

Derek wasn’t kidding – the vault is pretty big. There are rows upon rows of shelves, most containing thick books and wooden boxes. A few near the front are filled with mysterious glass jars and various plants. Derek is standing just a few feet away, hand on a giant switch on the wall. Lydia comes up beside Stiles and lays a gentle hand on his arm, and he jumps.

“Maybe you should sit down.” She suggests.

“Yeah. Right.” He croaks.

He lets then lead him to a dusty table in the middle of the room and tries to get a handle on his breathing. With the lights on, he feels better. Mostly. His heart is still doing weird flips in his chest, but Derek isn’t looking at him like he’s about to drop dead, so. It’s an improvement.

Its quiet for a moment (aside from the damn ringing in his ears. Maybe he really should get that looked at).

“It’s Kate.” Derek finally says. “She’s the thing my mother is protecting the nemeton from.”

Stiles nods. “Yeah.” He confirms.

He can’t look at him.

“Your visions…they were about her.” He pauses. “And me.”

“Yes.” Stiles lets out a rough breath, angry. And finally, its his own anger, and not one that and angry ghost thrust upon him. “This is what Laura always meant, wasn’t it? When she said it wasn’t your fault. The fire.” He finally looks up. “It _wasn’t_ your fault, Derek. Kate was a grown ass woman and she manipulated you, a _teenage boy_. She’s disgusting. I saw…the tree showed me how she died. And it also showed me that she was at your apartment, the night I – I left. Ran out. She was influencing our emotions, somehow. I’ve never heard of a ghost that can do that. Not even angry poltergeists can force emotions onto people.”

“Oh.” Lydia whispers.

Derek looks heartbreakingly vulnerable right now. He stares at Stiles for a moment, knuckles white from griping the edge of the table.

“Derek…”

“I think we have a few books about ghosts in here somewhere.” He says gruffly, pushing hard away from the table. Stiles winces.

“Once this is over, you should really check into rehab.” Lydia says after a second. Stiles laughs.

“Yeah. Right.”

“I’m serious. If you plan on getting sober, you need medical supervision and a better environment.”

“I’m not staying sober.” He snaps. “I’m only doing this for long enough to get Allison back, and then I’m done. I don’t know how much longer I can deal with this shit.” He puts his head in his hands. “Do you know how many ghosts are hanging around Beacon Hills? I can’t drive, Lydia. I can’t drive because half the time, I can’t even tell if the people on the road are dead or alive.  My last landlord was run over by a car, and when I’m coming down I can see him floating around by the stairs.” He looks up at her. “There’s only one ghost I ever want to see, and usually, I don’t have to be clean and sober to see her.”

He pauses. “’Sides. I don’t have the money for rehab.”

“I didn’t know it was that bad. But still. I'm sure there are other ways to deal with it. We’re sitting in a vault that can only be opened by the claws of a werewolf. Maybe the answer to your problems isn’t drugs. Maybe it’s something…supernatural.” Lydia tries.

Stiles lets himself hope, for one moment. Derek always did say he seems like magic. And mom knew how to keep the ghosts away, when she wanted them gone. He could never figure out how.

“I’ll look into it.” He lies.

“I found something.” Derek says out of _nowhere_. He drops three thick, leather bound books on the table, and Stiles jumps.

“Jesus Christ.”

“This is everything we have on ghosts and rituals involving them. Some of it’s in Latin.” He takes a seat across from Stiles.

“Lucky for you two, I happen to know Latin.” Lydia hums. She flips her hair over her shoulder and straightens up. “And a handful of other languages. But im not one to brag.”

Stiles snorts, and she shoots him a glare.

“Lets get to work.” He sighs.

**Author's Note:**

>  **Warnings: **  
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>   
> \- at one point someone suggests that Stiles kill himself, and he has some thoughts about that.  
>  \- graphic depictions of dead bodies and wounds? Ghost aren't always pretty.  
> \- I'm pretty vague w it bc i myself have no experience w addiction, but Stiles does a lot of drugs for most of this, even if i don't describe it explicitly.
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> **  
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> **i can't think of anything else but i'll add more warnings if anyone asks!**  
>   
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> **i didn't intend for this to be a chapter fic but i am Impatient™.**  
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> **My[Tumblr](http://littleredtheboy.tumblr.com/). Come cry over things w me.**  
> 


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